Dorthy was the best in the business. She had her shit on lock and got the job done. There was no negating such facts. She went to school for it, graduated with honors. Dean’s list all four years. Yeah, Jasper loved her setup and preparedness. She came ready with binders and folders, swatches, and textures. Buck appreciated her drive and passion to help their clients. He loved Dorthy’s work ethic and attention to detail; the woman was thorough. But, he could do without her and Trey’s shit. They made a beautiful couple and put three gorgeous children through college. They were raised right, but things turned sour after them babies left home. They were off doing big things while their parents made a mess. Thirty years of marriage down the drain because Dorthy slipped. Buck didn’t hate the girl for what she’d done to his grandson, but he sure didn’t like her, or the fact that she was with child, again. This would be baby number four and they weren’t even together. Dorthy didn’t want Trey. Fine. Why fuck around, though, if that was the case? Buck didn’t understand it one bit. These kids and their foolishness. Trey loved her; he was a good man who didn’t deserve to have his heart destroyed like this. And yeah, maybe Buck had something to say. Mayhap he was feeling a way about it as well. Trey had told them to stay out of it, and Buck was trying. Goddess help him, but he kept his mouth shut as the women discussed paint options. He smiled, meandering in the living room. There was still so much work left for them to do. New floors, plaster, beams, and even the foundation was shit. Buck had every intention of finishing before winter. The weather was calm at the moment, but it’d turn come November. Buck had no real reason to stick around, but was forced to stay. She wouldn’t let him leave. Jasper paid him no mind and didn’t have to. Her presence was enough. Her dapper attire fucked him up from the door. A woman who looked good in anything was his weakness. Putting that shit on with confidence. She even had unmitigated gall to add a splash of something dark, spicy, and sweet. It was her syrupy, hot, honey butter lilt and laughter tugging on his belt. Succubi were unintentionally cruel and reactive. He knew how this worked, but Jasper was like no other. He’d experienced their demonic curses and enchantments. There were none between them. She hadn’t tried to hook her claws into his soul quite yet, but she’d wanted to, he was god damn certain of it. To keep himself steady and aware, Buck decided on a walkabout. The house was decent in size and compartmentalized like any proper old-world home. Room within a room. Pocket doors, ninety-degree angles, and an outstanding turret. Two floors and an attic he’d rather not check up on. Buck ambled and re-assessed. There was something nostalgic about them dusty, creaky homes. He could just about smell allat lemon wax and cigar smoke beneath mold and stagnant water. He’d do his ultimate best to keep her bones; they were good, he sensed it much. On the second level, he ventured into the half bath, smelling those critters. “Y’all had better behave this round and—well, I’ll be.” Buck noted their abandoned lavatory condo and spotted black granules. Curiosity bugged the hell out of him, so he answered its call, dabbing the dust. A brief sniff told a somber tale. “Rest with the soil,” Buck muttered. Somebody done killed the little bastards. Which was actually against the law. Faerie of all species were to be left alone, according to the Queen Creed. Vampires, fairies, fae, and weres were safe in Ravensguard. It was neutral ground and oftentimes, a haven for those in need. An annoying squeal and holler called for attention. Buck huffed and jogged down the rickety, warped staircase. “Where’s ‘at god damn container?!” “The kitchen,” Jasper announced. “Maybe.” Hustling around the corner, he cracked his gum and gritted his teeth. Buck searched what was left of the kitchen. “Where is—” He spotted a pea green casserole dish and snagged it with two fingers. It’d been through hell. Patience lacking, he dashed through the back door, cleared the steps in a single bound, and followed the trail he’d made. Sissy Perkins was a difficult resident. He’d seen her at town hall meetings complaining about mismatched flowers, grass two shades darker than verdant, large dogs and their shedding on the sidewalk, wing mottling, and the smell of airing buds in bloom. Mind you, airing buds were essential to sprites, as they were a mating season indicator. There was absolutely nothing to be done about it. “Ah, Mr. Sunside,” Sissy’s fingers flexed, reaching for her property. She snatched it when able. “Thank—what the hell happened to it?” “Wicker spider guts.” “Yeah, yeah. Ugly critters.” She examined the dish and snarled, resembling a sneaky kingbird snake. They were highly poisonous, the size of a sheep dog, and killed their prey by laying eggs in its mouth. Their main line of defense was mimicry and camouflage. “When are you gonna start working on this place?” Sissy asked, snippier than a jackal ope. Eyes on Jasper’s place, she scowled. “It’s bringing the entire neighborhood down.” Buck nodded, gaze locked onto the duo up the street. They were nosy and chatty. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Perkins, we gone get this place cleaned up.” “Hope so, I’m sick of looking at it.” “Have a good one, now.” She gave a curt nod and scurried off, joining her little friends. Buck stood watch and fetched his phone. After a quick swipe, he stabbed Jo’s precious baby photo. Two rings later, the young man answered. “Funny, I was just thinking about you, Papa.” “Somethin ain’t right with Sissy Perkins.” “This ‘bout that cult shit?” “Hell yeah.” “How you know?” Buck popped his gum and tipped his hat to them, weird humans. They blanched and got the hell on. Most knew him by first name and reputation instead of his title. Buck didn’t play about his family nor the fine fae of Indigo Plains. And most humans were trouble, more than they were worth. Of course, the ones in his family tree were swell, but he was wary of those he didn’t know. The flock with bias, prejudices, and such, he loathed. If not for the appearance of an odd, freak tear between worlds a millennium ago, humans would’ve eradicated their own species at some point. Buck was sure of it. “‘Cause I know,” Buck said, snapping gum. “The magic on her smells old, and Chessie said Jasper’s house is cursed and been cursed.” He seethed at the thought of somebody taking advantage of Jasper. His bones creaked, and ears itched. He was ready to tear a hole in somebody’s ass. “I’m about to head on over to Hawke in a minute.” “Ohhhh shit. I heard he was the one to put up that house.” “And didn’t think twice about taking her money. I’mma get every dime back, too.” “Don’t hurt him, now, Papa.” “I ain’t making no promises.” Buck snapped gum, grinding his teeth. “Get on up here and do some investigations.” Jo cackled like he was getting his feet tickled. “Now what the hell is so funny?! Get your silly behind over here and do some sheriff work.” Buck cussed as his demand only made the boy giggle. Heading back towards the house, he kicked up dirt. It was dry as hell, damn near white. “Papa, we aren’t detectives. What are we supposed to be doing?” Buck shrugged and dropped to his haunches. No bugs meant no sustenance. He scooped a handful of craggy soil and sniffed. “This smells bad. Like somebody done died. No silt, minerals, or bacteria. It’s cursed, alright.” Buck stood, shaking his head. “Look, Jo. I just need to know what’s going on with Sissy Perkins and nem.” “Shit. You got cause, Papa?” “Yeah, cause I said so.” Jo smiled, and he didn’t have to be in the man’s face to know it. “I’ll send Powell. He’s got senses for shit like this.” “Good.” Buck stalled on the back porch and tapped his boot. “How’s Numa. You never said nothing, but I was worried about him.” “Ah, you know. He’s good, good. Misses his Mama. But you know.” It’d been two years since Jo lost his wife and they lost a great-grandchild. The pain never vanished. It was much like an angry tide. Ebb and flow. Buck found it hard to speak about the ones they’d lost. Two. Carter and Mary. He missed them. Numa was a grown man by the time his mother married Jo, but he was part of their family. “We all do.” Jo cleared his throat and sighed. “Alright, Papa, I got actual work to do. I can’t be running my mouth all day. “ “Yup, I love you, boy.” “Love you too, Papa. I’ll call you if anything comes up.” “I’m sure it will.” “Bye, old man.” Buck grunted and ended the call. He ain’t like this picture one bit. It smelled worse than it looked, and he had half a mind to do some investing of his own. Hitting a quick one-eighty, he thought better of it, for now. Powell was good at his job, and Buck was certain the old wolf would find something worth a damn.
So, here’s the thing, I love buck and his grouchy self. He’s definitely our grump, but he’s so soft on the ones he loves. He goes the extra mile and doesn’t play about who he claims as his family. You fuck around with them you might lose your life. Okay? I will say, the tension between Jasper and Buck is getting on my last nerves! But, I don’t know, I feel like the payoff will be great. As I have said before, I’m a panster, and I am following along with y’all. Jasper is putting this man through it. There is something in the air about her, and he’ll find out soon enough what that is. Veteran fantasy/paranormal/monster/vampire/shifter romance folks already know what time it is. Fated what? Exactly! Anyway, thank you so much for reading. You’re amazing, truly. I hope you have a wonderful week. Give yourself grace! Oh, one last thing, drink your water, love. It’s right there, I see it. Don’t let that ice melt! Byyyeeee.
“Oh, blithe tiddies!” Kit slammed the oven door shut and huffed. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” “Everything, quite possibly,” Julep murmured from his post on the windowsill. His tail flicked and curled with indignation. “You’re a decent cook, my good friend, but you are no baker.” “I completed the steps. I heeded Maggie’s instruction word for word. The cake won’t rise!” Kit garbled and stomped as he read the directions for the hundredth time. “Butter, egg, oil, whisk, sift, and—ohhhh, dear. I’ve forgotten the baking soda. And the vanilla.” “No baker at all,” Julep quipped. “Hush, you! If it weren’t for Jasper, I’d have thrown you out.” “Don’t get pissy with me, old man. I am capable of making my own decisions.” “You, are a liar my boy and quite irresponsible. And this is why you were trapped in the chicken coop with angry hens. I told you—” Julep jumped down and padded to his water bowl. “So dramatic! Kit, really. It’s not that serious.” Kit cackled and slashed a hand. “Look at you! Bald spots, demon! You’ve got an eye patch for Undervell’s sake.” Julep ignored him and lapped quietly. “You could have died, sir.” “But I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never felt more alive.” Kit sighed as Julep leaped onto the counter and sat. “It reminded me of the old days when we chased kettle duns all cycle and ate sugared bugs. Besides, what else am I to do here?” Kit patted Julep’s head and gave him a good scratch, minding the reddened, sore patches of skin. “You have to be more careful, demon cat. I’d rather not lose my best friend.” “Off with you, that’s enough.” Julep hissed and popped Kit’s hand with soft toe beans. “I know you worry, but I’m fine. Promise. I’ve found my calling.” “Hunting chickens?” “And various other rodents. There is a large forest just beyond.” Julep turned his attention to the window, yellow eyes now saucers. His purr was curious and adorable. “It’s a fascinating place, Kit. Truly. You should come with me one day.” “I will never step foot into that verdant wasteland.” Julep rolled his neck and eyes back around, pinning his fierce gaze upon Kit. “Pussy.” “Ha! Funny coming from a cat.” Julep hissed and swiped claws. Kit stumbled and shoved Julep off of the counter. “Go! Get out of here. And stay off my countertops. Disgusting retch.” Julep zoomed around the corner, scaled the wall, and screeched at Jasper as she passed. “Oh, fuck! Would you—“ She ducked and growled at the feisty demonic feline. ”Freak!” Julep detached and flipped onto the floor. He scrambled for purchase and dashed through the small flap door. “I hated him as a full-bodied demon, but I think I hate him more now. He’s a menace.” “Well, you opted to keep him yesterday.” Kit considered his little sister’s state of dress and sighed. “What are we going to do with you?” “With who?” “You.” “I’m perfectly fine, and what is that smell?” “Shiiiiiit!” Kit whirled and wrenched open the oven door. Yelling expletives, he grabbed both pans and dropped them on the counter. “My poor cakes.” Jasper barked in laughter and plucked herself a mug. Kit failed to see what was so hilarious. His time and efforts had been wasted. “They’re flat as ever,” he said, poking the charred disk. “I forgot an ingredient.” “An important one, apparently.” Kit grunted, gathered his failings, and marched to the trash bin. “Bumble today, succeed tomorrow.” He dropped everything into the trash and wiped hands on his apron. “You didn’t have to throw away the pans.” “We’ll purchase another set.” “We?” Kit flapped a hand and stored his brand-new stand mixer in the cupboard. “Jasper, you have been in the house for two whole cycles and appear to be forlorn. What’s happened?” “Nothing.” Her tone and mumble told Kit one thing: his sister was lying. She stirred sugar into her tea and sighed. He couldn’t help but offer some form of comfort. Their father had always said it was a flaw, caring too much. He’d peer down at Kit and rumble, ‘A general with compassion is a dead one’. “Jasper, you tell me who to maim or kill, and I will get it done.” Kit stood next to his closest sibling and prepared his own cup. The tea here was sublime, and he wanted to know the distributor, but there was nothing on the sachet’s ornate box. As he poured hot water from the electric kettle, Jasper chuckled. “Thank you, brother. But, this is nothing we can fight.” He assessed her distant gaze, wondering who had claimed Jasper’s thoughts. “I’m a coward, is all.” “Hardly.” “What?” “You left home, Jasper.” Kit’s guts rolled as he was reminded of his mission. He chose a bright citrus tea and dropped it into the steaming pool. “It is strictly forbidden. You were due to meet your tether, and you vanished. You didn’t give a damn about father or his disappointment. You are far from cowardly.” She snickered, resting her chin atop Kit’s head. He wanted to shrink away, steer clear of such affections, but it was pleasant. Her closeness warmed his chest. “Thank you, Kit.” “What exactly have I done?” “For always being in my corner.” She kissed his itchy, growing horns and battled an urge to smile. “I love you, Kitters.” The demon grunted and cleared his throat, face hotter than Undervell’s springs. Physical touch was one thing; he could handle that, sometimes. Words, on the other hand…he’d never been one for them, mainly because Carriont told him generals carried war in their hearts, not love. Kit gritted his teeth and huffed. “Well, maybe he was wrong.” “Hmm?” “I—you.” Kit stirred honey and cherry wood ash into his tea. He flushed, a wetness coating his upper lip. “Love.” Jasper erupted in ominous laughter and gave him a bit of space. “Awww, look at you. Unlearning and shit. This is called growth, bruh.” “Growth?” Kit frowned and sipped his first afternoon cup. He pivoted, faced his kin, and leaned against the counter. “Whatever do you mean?” Jasper lifted her mug and sighed aloud. “There’s a lot of garbage our Dad taught us. Certain behaviors don’t work up here. And others are welcome. Like, softness, playfulness, silliness, foolery, and love.” Kit digested her commentary for a tick and enjoyed what was becoming his favorite blend. He’d seen quite a lot over the last few cycles or days, and perhaps Jasper was right. “Kit,” she called, forcing him to meet her pit flame stare, “you can be who you want up here. Start fresh, man. Chase that chef dream or become a deputy. You seemed pretty excited about your outing with Jo.” “It was thrilling,” Kit said, his blood buzzing at the thought. “But, I like the chef idea more, only, well…I never intended on staying, Jasper.” “You could if you wanted to.” She shrugged and tipped her mug. “In fact, I’m putting a room together just for you.” “For me?” “Yup. You can decorate it however you want. After everything is done, of course.” He smiled now, cheeks heated. That warmth in his chest expanded only to dim. “I can’t stay. This is only respite. Soon I’ll have to get back and fulfill my duties.” “You mean father’s duties.” Silence between them stretched as Jasper’s sad smile gave him nothing to work with. Kit couldn’t stay, he was here for one reason, and if he didn’t go through with it, Carriont would surely expel him. “Jasper, there’s something you ought to know. The—“ A thunderous knocking interrupted his confession. “What in the Undervell?” Kit set his cup on the table and saw to the person ten seconds from kicking the door in. The moment Kit touched the handle, he knew who it was. He scented him instantly and wanted to stuff embers up his nose. “It’s you,” Kit intoned, staring at an agitated vampire. Hank’s eye twitched, and his jaw ticked as he tapped a booted foot. “What can I do—“ “I told ya’ didn’t I?” “Told me what?” “To stay the hell outta my coops.” “I did.” “Your fucking cat kicked up a fuss and spooked them gals! If it ain’t you stealing my damn eggs, it’s your ugly ass rat tryna kill my chickens.” “I’d like to apologize for Julep’s behavior, but you are being incredibly rude. There is no need to shout.” “Like hell it ain’t. You got no idea what it takes to raise them up and keep shit goin’. Royal boy.” “You’ve got one more time to call me boy,” Kit hissed, confused by his anger and arousal. “I will show you what makes a man!” “Hayyyy hay.” Jasper sidled up beside Kit and smiled. “Stop, chill bruh. It’s—Hank, right?” “Yeah, mhm.” “You gotta understand, he can’t control that cat. Julep is cursed.” Hank squinted. “Cursed?” “He’s a demon that accidentally possessed a cat, and somehow he got stuck like that. He’s a ruffian and a pain in the ass.” Kit crossed his arms and kicked up his chin. “He won’t listen to me. I am not his owner, per se. We’re chamber mates.” “Roommates?” Hank asked. “Yes.” “He’s going to kill me for this,” Kit mumbled, “But Julep is terrified of… cotton balls.” “Whatchu mean?” “He’s scared of cotton balls. Line the coop with them, and he’ll stay out. I can’t say what will come of the wild ones, but I shall do my best with talking to him.” “Do more than talk to the lil shit. Control him or I will.” “No need for threats,” Kit snipped. “My ass!” Hank snarled and stomped across the porch. His bergamot-spiced scent lingered like fine mist. Kit inhaled and hated the tightening knot at the bottom of his belly. “He is a foul-mannered son of a wench.” Jasper closed the door and snickered. “Someday y’all are gonna go at it.” “If he intends on being a complete ass, then yes, it is inevitable.” His sister grabbed her cup and shuffled on down the hall. “If you need me, I’ll be in my cave.” “How about we take a walk or—“ “No, thank you!” A door slam made him laugh. At least he was free to bake to his heart’s content without being bothered. That was, unless Hank or Jo came snooping about. Kit hummed and grinned, hating very much how captor hogs rolled in his guts at the confounding thought.
Jasper couldn’t stand how cooped up she’d been for two whole days. Cowardice had sent her running for the hills. “How embarrassing.” She snarled at the humiliating memory. A seasoned, well-adjusted succubus hiding away from some pussy. It was distasteful how quickly she’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched, savored. Nieema’s scent and satin had stained her wakeful dreams. Jasper spent the last forty-eight playing games and eating her favorite foods. She wasted time with crafts and had even finished Nieema’s commission. It was a gorgeous piece, and Jasper was ready for another. The only way to get that was by talking to Mrs. Sunside. She groaned and flopped on the bed. Phone in hand, she checked her bank account and grimaced. Kit’s spending habit was a problem; he’d been picking at her last few dollars for a week. Grocers and odd-ends he just had to have. “Shit.” As much as she didn’t want to, Jasper had to get out of bed and the house. She needed the little job the Sunsides’ offered like yesterday. A streaming session or a few feet pics usually helped ends meet. Jasper shook her head, still not ready to face the public or her loyal fan base. As she rose, her phone vibrated. Checking the notif, she grinned despite fried nerves. Buck’s relentless efforts were impressive, much like his stature. Though this wasn’t a personal matter, Jasper’s heart thrummed at the idea of seeing him. Thick masculine energies would do a body good. It’d steel her softening spine and resolve. A sliver of his soul, a sip of heady desire, was exactly what Jasper wanted. In a petty mood, she hit him back quick. Miss me already Mr. Sunside? She watched the dots until his reply made her laugh. You’d be in my bed if I did. “Yeah, okay.” She scoffed and blasted him a final text. Self-assurance has an expiry date, Buck. But sure, I’ll meet with the decorator. What time? Jasper marched into the bathroom, eyes on their conversation. How about now? “God damn,” she barked, looking at her ragged reflection. Bonnet and bags. “Uhhhhm.” Give me twenty minutes. Jasper set her phone on the counter and started the shower. She snatched her gown off as the screen illuminated. Add ten more minutes. Beauty takes time, woman. Don’t be rushing on my account. An ugly snort escaped, and with it, Jasper stepped into the stall. Forty-five minutes later, she was fully dressed. Having an androgynous day, Jasper slipped on a pair of slacks and a silk blouse the color of a summer-ripened plum. Gold accents glittered on her wrist, neck, and loafers. After an assessment, she snatched her phone and wallet. On the way out, she bid her brother farewell. He was in a mood over those damn muffins and vowed to have a batch ready by the time she got home. Dusk had settled over Indigo Plains. Painting it in various shades of orange, red, and goldenrod. The lazy sun set Buck ablaze. Leaning all that body against his car, he was quite the sight. Brawny in his usual. T-shirt, jeans, shiny buckle, and silver-capped boots. Cool red tones kicked up a fuss, causing Jasper to stare on her approach. Buck tipped his hat and grinned. “Hot damn, you look city ready. Slick and classy. Should I have changed for this outing, Jasper?” “It’s been a minute since I felt so pretty. Figured, why not?” Buck lifted his strong chin, jaw ticking. Their stares clashed as his scent billowed and dark soul flushed bruised maroon. His deepening desire was conspicuous in nature. Buck never tried to hide it, but she appreciated how he ignored its calling. Their attraction was palpable and taut, but Jasper could go no further with this. Not with where her head was at the moment. “I don’t wanna be too forward, but you always pretty, Jasper. Don’t matter who says what. It doesn’t make you any less gorgeous.” He didn’t offer her the floor, and she didn’t want to strike up a debate about her looks. Buck opened her door with a wink. Jasper smirked and slid into the butter-soft seat. Sweet, smoky pine, and natural. His organic cologne battered her sensibilities. It was strong and masculine. Just what she needed. Every second she spent in his company, she sipped. Slowly, she inhaled, nibbled, and dined. “So, uhm, what’s this decorator got planned?” “The basics. Swatches, your vision, wood types, and knobs. Boring type shit and…” Buck kept both eyes on the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel. She loved how the other gripped the clutch. Cords and veins created a work of art. From fingers to the crook of his elbow. They wrapped elegantly around his forearm and danced between ink like thick vines. “Jasper.” Her name rumbled and rolled like sweet syrup off his tongue. It tasted good with the hint of his smoky desire. It rippled in the crackling space between them and swelled. “What can I do for you, Buck?” She’d inched closer, arm behind his head. Casual and relaxed, Jasper peeped the mysterious driver. He was loaded and packed with dark energy; it was enough to rock her loose right here in the front seat. Foul how he affected her. Egregious, really. She wanted to both flee and flay the man who smiled. His dimples disgusted her. “Maybe I should be asking you that question.” “I’m good.” “You say such things, but we know what time it is, succubus.” “Drive and shut your mouth.” Buck chuckled, deep bellied and maniacal. She loathed the visceral reaction it caused. He stirred the slick potion, dampening her slacks. He killed the engine and hopped out. Jasper peered out the window and scoffed. They’d arrived at a physical representation of despair. Her sickly home looked no better beneath the dimming sun. Grumbling, Jasper emerged from the vehicle and hiked up her pants. She grunted at the fucked veranda thingy and porch. “Hellooooo there.” The sing song voice belonged to a willowy, copper curled beauty with shimmering freckles and crimson wings. The gauzy set fluttered as she offered a hand. “My name is Dorthy.” “Jasper.” “Great to meet you, Jasper. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m the yammering sort. We interior designers have so much to relay and discuss. I don’t want to overwhelm you with information or—“ “You doing it,” Buck murmured. Dorthy’s left eye twitched along with her wing. Jasper plucked at the frayed strings binding them together. On Buck’s end, they were weak and angry. “You agreed to stay on that side while I conduct business with Jasper. Let’s not drag family affairs into this.” “Unprofessional. I ain’t say shit about that,” Buck grumped, hands on his hips. He surveyed the neighborhood and chewed his cinnamon gum. “Get to it then, Dorthy. Shit.” The decorator brightened, manufactured smile touching her tapered ears. “Anyway, shall we?” “How are we supposed to get in there?” “’Round back,” Buck said, leading the way. “Watch the spider, though. I planned on clearing it out today.” “Wicker spiders.” Dorthy shuddered. “They live underground, mostly. Not too big on people or the moon. I find it hard to believe they attacked you.” “Excuse me, hay there.” A familiar voice halted their journey. “Well, look who it is.” Sissy Perkins glared more than smiled. Her displeasure obvious and sharp. She smelled of deceit and decay. “Good to see you, Jasper. Say, I was wondering if the dish was clean. It’s vintage. My mother’s and her mother’s. Practically a family heirloom. It’d be a shame if I never got it back.” Jasper’s brows grazed the sky as she finally smiled. It was unpleasant, surly. A show of fang and uncapped horns gave Sissy pause. The old woman sniffed, inching backwards. “I’ll get it, don’t you worry, Sissy!” “Thank you, that’d be terrific.” Jasper clocked the annoying yoga instructor or pilates doll man across the street. He conversed with a middle aged human wearing a god damn tunic. Grunting, Jasper spun on her heels and followed Buck to the back porch. Getting there wouldn’t be easy, thanks to tall grass, thorns, and feisty burrowing creatures. Jasper was prepared for war and was about to pop off cuff links until Buck cleared a path. Blades of grass, brindle, and dry brush withered, dying beneath his soles. With each step, Buck crafted a path made of moss and leaves. It was an impressive, magical display. His abilities emboldened her curiosity. Jasper had more than twenty questions, but stashed them in her back pocket for later. After she talked to this lady about her color options.
After being interrupted in the weirdest way possible, AB spent the next few hours resorting and stacking. Without added speed, it gave him something to do. After which, he went through everything on Tracy’s slooooooow as hell 2006 Gateway PC. XP, not even Vista. It was simpler without OneDrive, Dropbox, or Drive. Quicker too. Anndddd ohhhhh, boy, the info one gathered. Maxine Bernice Bissette did, in fact, own Ink in Hell. Daddy supplied funds, however, as he did with everything else. The Wrangler out front, a shared phone bill, and Maxine’s monthly allowance. She had nothing of her own. AB dug in his pocket and pulled out a cherry Jolly Rancher. He unwrapped the hard candy and tossed it back. There was no reason to be a hundred years old and not have something going for yourself if you had means. At first glance, this woman had every opportunity to be independent. Why wasn’t she self-reliant? A woman who couldn’t take care of herself was unattractive. Personally, AB hated those who didn’t have a pot to piss in or two pennies. Much more, he couldn’t stand the ones who’d depend on him every waking moment. Being broke was not cute, baby. Sure, okay, she owned-ran the shop. But how much did it earn? Not enough. Not in Miami, and not for a spoiled female who lived comfortably with daddy her whole life. “A damn shame.” Sucking on his brand of crack cocaine, AB clocked the time. 2am. Roughly five hours of work. “Not bad at all.” Accounting was something AB liked quite a bit. He loved numbers and boring, monotonous work. Hell, why not? Living was boring, so why not find a career just as tedious? With this job, AB enjoyed the freedom. Having no boss and long hours, if he wanted them. It was more of a hobby than a profession at this point. AB dragged ass going through the paperwork and shit because he enjoyed it. Knocking around the candy in his mouth, he shot to his feet and tidied himself. Cuff links, vest, and lastly, his suit jacket. He willed the light off and promised to return. There were two tubs left and however many boxes. On his way out, he closed the door and hoped Tracy was near. AB had a question or two, nothing big. Just a few discrepancies here and there. Passing Maxine’s room, he sniffed and growled. She smelled amazing. Fresh gardenias and fucking Shalamar. Classic and clean. Then again, she was a poor commoner, a female who’d demand a band and diamonds just for breathing. He shuddered and stalked into the formal living, whereupon he sat on the sofa. Perusing Tracy’s home was boorish. Someone would come along, with lights blaring and the precious aroma of grilled meat piquing his interest. Maybe he had some ramen at home, or Ricearoni. Biting down on hardened corn syrup, he watched as two stooges came laughing through the front door. What was up with her and those glasses? Everywhere? God damn it, she had a lazy eye. For sure, something like that. Had to be, maybe a visual impairment of some sort. A subtle limp too, that wa—her thighs were throwing him off, but her not boyfriend stared. “Why you just sitting there?” he asked. “I’m waiting for Tracy.” “My dad is out back,” she laughed, “oh my god…” Biting her bottom lip, she shrugged. “Ya’ll are really high,” AB noted. “Nah, I’m coo’. Shorty trippin’ though.” Low lied, his brilliant stormy gray stare shone through slits. “I ain’t even got my half, muh’fucka’.” “Your what?” Low recoiled and made a dismissive noise. “Nothing, college boy. You don’t know nothing ’bout this shit. Aye, for real, your hair is fucking me up. It’s like a red light, hella abrasive and bright.” AB snapped his cuffs and thought to count from one to ten. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to lash out in this man’s home. “That cookie was too big, Low… Dammmmn.” “You lyin’, they made it with that whack ass Miami Heat.” Low chuckled and threw an arm over Maxine’s shoulder. “Shit was booboo.” “Miami heat? The basketball team?” AB asked. They exploded in laughter once again. “The basket—man, hell nah,” Low bellowed. “Mind the business that pays.” AB cracked his neck and sneered at a male way in over his head. A twenty-thousand-dollar suit and kind eyes fooled a lot of people. But Low knew what kinda man he was dealing with; he didn’t seem so dumb. “You’ll get real tired of fuckin’ with me. I promise you that.” Maxine rolled her neck. “Ooooo.” She snorted. “Anyway, where the steak at?” “Ah, Jaxon.” Tracy arrived, saving the day, but Low made an odd choking noise. “You’ve finished?” AB smiled and stood. “Yes, for tonight, of course. I’ll be back Monday bright and early at nine thirty.” “Splendid. Say, are you hungry?” He nearly refused but Jaya wouldn’t have it. “Come on, Jaxon, you can’t turn down the T-Bone. Low is a master on the grill.” “I am. When it come to the meat, I tear—” Maxine elbowed him. “I’d love to, but I—” “Love it so much, then eat it,” Maxine said. “Let’s not do this again,” Tracy said, eying her. “You know what,” Ab interjected, checking the Audemars. “I have some time.” The male clapped once in celebration. “Perfect, it’s such a lovely night. Shall we?” Everyone sauntered outside and AB was dead last. ‘Cause weeelll, ass was ass, and it wasn’t slim pickings up in this bitch. “What a fine entertainment set up you have here, Tracy.” Sitting at a long patio table tucked under a cedar pergola, AB was actually impressed. He noted bottles of wine, bread, and various sides. Potent spices, mesquite, and peppers scented the humid night air. They had ample lighting and smooth jazz; it was a nice touch. Everything dinner guests needed, with a built-in TV, full-sized grilling area, and room for twelve. “Thank you so much.” Tracy grinned, admiring his well-tended backyard. “Interior design is a hobby of mine.” AB placed his bag in the chair next to him and said, “If that’s the case, then I think you should start taking clients and build a portfolio.” “Oh no.” He waved a hand. “Pipe dreams earn no living.” “Pipe dreams can and will earn a living if you’re passionate enough,” AB replied, removing his jacket for the second time. Maxine nodded. “Word.” She sat opposite him and giggled her ass off. “That’s right, Dad. Passion breeds success.” “I don’t think that’s it.” Low added, but Maxine rolled her eyes. “Shut up!” “Use your inside voice, Maxine. For God’s sake. We have company. Mind yourself, girl.” Jesus, Tracy was a nightmare. No wonder she used her body as a canvas. Rebellion appeared in many forms, and he bet money her pops hated tattoos. “Sorry, Father,” she amended, adding bass to her voice. “Meat coming right up!” Low shouted from behind Max. He glanced at AB. “Hope it ain’t too sweet.” “You’ve never made it sweet, Elliot.” Jaya was minding her own quiet business. On the phone and smiling about something. “How long have you worked for Tracy, Jaya?” AB asked, stirring a bit of conversation. “If you don’t mind.” She looked at Tracy and didn’t speak until he nodded. “Since nineteen-twenty-one.” “That is a long time.” So Max had been waited on hand and foot since birth. A nanny. Jaya was Max’s nursemaid, what the fuck. He kept a bout of hysterical laughter to himself. “It is, but I think of them as my family.” She shrugged and beamed. “They are my family.” “Awwwwww. I love you, Jaya.” “I love you too, Maxi.” “Dear god.” Tracy’s disgust shone on his tight features. “What is that smell?” Jaya’s attention cut to Max. “Yes.” AB grimaced. “What is it, a skunk?” “Nah, it ain’t that,” Low murmured, handling the steak platter. They smelled hella good, too. “It ain’t that stank.” Max and Jaya snorted, but AB missed the joke. “Well, it’s strong whatever it is.” The man smirked, showcasing a mouth full of golds. Even his fangs gleamed. “I’ve come in contact with more pungent aromas. This one is subtle, but it almost stinks.” “Elliot, what are you going on about, man?” Tracy looked up at him while a slab was dropped on his plate. “The smell, Tracy.” “Oh yes, I may have to call pest control.” Max giggled and went for the bread. “What is this? Sourdough, yeessss. I love bread. Mostly cause you can put butter on it.” A 24-ounce T-bone was dropped on AB’s plate; juice splattered. He gaped, staring at his vest. A six-thousand-dollar Taupe Kiton vest, which he had waited two weeks to have tailored, was now stained. This motha fucka had a death wish. “I’m so sorry,” Low intoned. “I didn’t know it was finna hit like that.” “Elliot, that was quite rude.” AB chuckled, unwrapped his utensils, and snapped the dinner napkin. “It’s A-okay.” Glaring at the male, AB smiled. “Accidents happen.” Low sniffed and moved on. “Are you sure?” Jaya asked. “I can get some club soda.” “Oh Jaya, I fear that’s Vicuña.” The pity on Tracy’s face spoke of a man who understood AB’s pain. “Club soda would compromise the material. I hope it comes out in the dry cleaning.” “I’m sure it will,” AB said in a delighted tone to shield broiling anger. “What do we—” “You don’t want no sides?” Low nitpicked as he sat next to his not girlfriend. Who mind you, was an inch away from turning her steak into a pillow. “No, I’ll take bread, that’s enough for me. Tracy, are you not hungry?” “He’s vegan.” AB winced at the unexpected, curve-ball response. What terrible vampire etiquette. “Is that right?” “Yes,” Tracy said. “The environment is being attacked. And we will be here long after the human waste reaches their expiry date. If we don’t do something, we will be left with nothing.” “What are we gonna do when they die?” Max asked, as it seemed she’d come to. “That is too morbid a subject, Maxine.” Her father’s words were terse as he cut into a… tofu, cauliflower, bean… steak, thing. What the fuck did vegans eat? “Such discourse is not fit for a gathering of this nature. So, Jaxon, are you from Miami? Well, you know.” “Uh, do you mind?” He pointed at a tempting bottle of Cabernet. “Oh no, of course.” AB gripped the neck, poured a decent drop, and loved how it’d been aired beforehand. Tracy was a man of class and culture. “No. No, I am not from Florida. I moved here about eight years ago. I was born in Ireland, moved to London, and then to the States. I’ve been here siiiiince… seventeen-ninety-five.” “Before its inception?” “Yeah, my mother and I hopped a Spanish vessel and wound up in Cali. But she lives in London now.” “Californiaaaaa?” Max sat amazed, and it offered AB more insight. Bet his left nut she’d never been out of state. “Yes, it was a long time ago.” Slicing into a superb slab of beef, he changed topics quick as hell. “Tracy, you’ve been a busy bee.” “Indeed, I’ve acquired a lot over my lifetime.” With an immaculate sliver of beef on the fork, he shoved it between his lips, annnnnnd, heaven sent. Damn it, Low made a mean steak. Succulent, with a glorious char and rare. Rosemary, garlic, onion, cayenne, mesquite, applewood, not charcoal, and sweet cream butter. “Although you ruined my vest, I must hand it to you. This is a phenomenal steak. It’s top tier.” Low smiled lazily and lifted his glass. “I’m something like a chef.” “He is,” Tracy agreed. “Maxine!” Her head popped up. “Huh? I don’t like Neapolitan ice cream.” AB chuckled at her… what did the kids call it? State of inebriation. Low thought it was funny, too, but he wasn’t doing any better. “Are you tired?” Tracy prodded. “Yeah, bruh.” “Don’t bruuuuh me, young lady.” She only laughed. “Steak! Yesss.” “As I was saying, Tracy, you’ve dabbled in a fair share of real estate.” He nodded but shrugged it off. “I have. I flip houses.” Tracy was a liar. “Ohhh, that explains it. Makes sense.” It did not. And AB had every intention of digging deeper, ‘til he got to the nasty, bitter core. Then he’d make Mr. Bissette an offer he’d dare not refuse. For now, AB would accept the fallacy and enjoy his fabulous meal. In the end, he had two cuts while they sat outside and conversed. The weather, TV shows, and stupid shit people talked about. AB made certain not to speak on personal matters. He didn’t know them, and putting your business in the street had the capacity to bite you in the ass. So, he kept it nice and easy, even through the hummingbird cake and a bubbly dessert wine. But as with all things, their fun came to an end. AB had had enough small talk for one night. “Wow, you all sure know how to party.” “This wasn’t no party…” Max giggled and had a good five minutes left in her. The nodding worsened by the minute. “Oh, you’re an accountant. Meehhhh, boring personality, bruh.” Tracy clapped his hands. “That’s enough from you, uh… Elliot, will you escort my daughter to her room? She is out of sorts.” “My pleasure.” AB bit down on a raunchy comment resting on his tongue. “I really love your hair,” Max said, allowing Low to manhandle her. “Thank you.” “It’s like, blazing.” “Elliot.” “Yup.” He hefted Max bride style and sprinted away. “I do apologize for my—” “Don’t do that, Tracy,” Jaya snipped. “I swear you want Max to hate you.” This was a deep convo not suited for guests. Tracy’s head fell as he sighed. “I have enjoyed your company, Jaxon.” “You as well.” On his feet, AB grabbed both the Bottega and his jacket. “I am stuffed, and Jaya, the cake was divine.” She blushed. “Thank you, but I didn’t make that. Max did, she’s a baker.” His brows arched. “Oh, okay.” The woman had a way with flour and sugar. That confection was moist as fuck. “Please do tell her I loved it.” “I will.” AB left the pair on their own and showed himself out. Halfway to his car, he stopped to admire the Monte Carlo. A sweet, sexy thing she was. He liked how the engine purred, too. Classy. “You wanna test drive?” Low emerged from the shadows, like AB couldn’t see or sense another vampire’s presence. The tip of a blunt glowed briefly as he advanced. “I’ll let you ride it. Ride in it, I mean.” “You’re terrible at come-ons.” AB sniffed and shrugged. “Who uses Swishers anymore?” “I do, damn. I was outta woods. Stay out Black folks business. You look like the dispensary type. Legal trash. What you smoke? Bongs and vaporizers? Typical white boy shit.” AB snarled. “You talk a lot.” “I know. It’s part of my charm, bruh.” “Your charm?” He scoffed and flicked a hand. “I’m this way. Have a good night.” “Let me know if you want that test drive.” AB opened his car door while Low tact on bullshit. “Prolly can’t handle it, though.” He stopped short of getting in and faced the verbose male. “I’d advise you to ease up while you’re ahead.” AB zoned in on his ass and sneered. “This ain’t what you want, trust me.” Low laughed, expelling a pillow of smoke and said, “Ain’t? Look at you, so cute. I ain’t trippin’, Red. You too tight in the ass for me anyway. I like my men pensive. But believe you me, I done made more than one alpha turn coy.” Low discarded the blunt and added, “I’ll be sure to tell Max you an accountant annnd pussy.” Unbelievable. If the male hadn’t vanished, Jaxon would have yolked his ass up. Try to kill him, probably. “Ohhhhhh, my god. I need a drink.”
. I hope yall are ready for quite the ride going forward. READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS AND LEARN ‘EM. I’m not joking. Please take care if dark romance isn’t your thing; feel free to skip certain chapters. These don’t happen in the same chapter or the next, but they are coming, and quickly. Also, I don’t know why I said mild gore because nah, there is quite a bit. For me, it’s mild, but for others, it might be too much. As always, thank you so much for reading, I hope you have a wonderful week.
“Ndari, he’s in my house. I swear to god.” Max paced in her room, kicking clothes and shoes from her path. “I can’t believe this, so he—” “Yes! My dad hired him as a private accountant.” “The chances.” “Right,” she said, stunned that her father appointed the man who just asked for her number as a joke. It was a jest. Maybe a bet of some kind. He was definitely pulling her leg. The scarred one. Puffing on her vape pen, Max stared at the latest painting. The results were shit. She tried to capture Low in a state of euphoria and failed. He’d love it, but she was gonna burn this piece of awful or throw the ruined lambskin in a wood chipper.. “I just can’t wrap my mind around this. My Dad didn’t know, bruh.” “It’s nuts, babe. He’s fine, though.” “As hell. And he look soooo good in a suit.” Shaking her head, Max inhaled blueberry-flavored smoke and spoke on exhale. “I can’t even be in my own home right now.” Ndari giggled in her ear. “Why?” “Because I don’t need him humiliating me.” “Whyyyy would he do that?” “Caus—” A beep sent Max sprinting for her phone. “Oh shit, it’s Low. I gotta go.” “Alright, hon, keep me posted.” “Will do.” She tapped the green circle and answered with a smile. “Wus up, baby?” Low’s voice stoked all them feel good vibrations. “You are never gonna guess who is at my house.” “Ronald Isley.” “I wish,” she snorted. Being older than him, her cougar ass could give Ronny the ride of his life. “Nah, Red.” “No, Teddie, cut lengthwise len—yeah, like that. Who?” Rolling her eyes, Max groaned and threw the pen on her vanity. She dropped into a chair and examined the mermaid on her neck. Her hair needed shading. A brighter purple. Maybe fuchsia. “Red, as in big ass, fine ass Red.” “Ohhhh shit, did he follow you home? Hol’ up. Is he stalking you?!” She laughed and said, “Nope, my Dad just put him on, bruh. I guess he’s an accountant or something.” “Whhhhat.” Low scoffed. “A calculator corporal?! How somebody like him work a pussy job like that? What a damn shame. Aye, I’m finna come over.” She nodded, fiddling with her septum ring. A new one was indeed on the way. “I heard that. Bring your fine behind on. I need you here with me in case he tries to hit my line.” “You might as well giv—” “Hurry up, Low!” With a tap to her earbud, she killed the call and shot to her feet. Max jumped to it, ran ass in the bathroom on a slide, and dashed to the closet. There were only minutes to spare since Low lived nearby. In her dressing room, she lost the SpongeBob onesie and exchanged it for something decent. Purple leggings and a cropped, sleeveless mock-neck thing. Feeling cute, Max sprayed her throat with Shalamar and slipped into a pair of furry slides. Back in the washroom, she put the straightener to use real quick. It may have been time for a cut. Too long and too much dye was required. With her hair done and bone straight, them deadends touched her waist. She didn’t wear it straight often; her curls were too healthy for that. Plus, dual tones popped after a wash and go. “Okay.” Back in her bedroom, she marched to the dresser and ripped open the top drawer. Its deep belly was filled with sunglasses. She had a menacing stare, as some have said. Max was an old woman who had come to love certain things about herself. The eyes were a sensitive topic. She still had issues accepting it. Her mismatched set was worse than back-rolls and a wonky leg. Some glasses were tucked into cases, both hard and soft. Others had no case at all. Her collection was a colorful menagerie of generic no-name, Prada, and Ray-Ban. She had about a dozen that were well over fifty years old, and ten she had bought days ago. Max re-upped on shades damn near every night. Online or in-store, somehow, she had a new pair daily. Max went for steampunk dystopia. The metal rimmed goggles would block peripherals, but so be it. They were also highly reflective, which she loved. Once donned, she slammed the drawer and twirled. Low lived nine minutes away, and given how he drove, she should have known better. The man barged right in and froze. Max dashed for the canvas, stood in front of it, and smiled. “Get out! I’m coming.” “What is that?” “Nothing.” “You lying.” Stepping over her clothes, he grabbed Max by the shoulders and lifted her like one would a toddler. “Haaayyy!” she shouted. “I’m ‘bouta mess you up.” She kicked his thighs and growled until he put her down. “Max…this is fire.” “No. It’s not. And I didn’t even want you to see it. Asshole.” She scowled and sneered. “You’re invading my privacy. Bringing your bad energy in here. I just smudged my space.” “I’m taking this home,” he whispered. She tried not to grin and failed the mission. Of course, he wanted it, Low loved her art. “I messed up some on the grill part. Don’t think I got the correct shade of gray for your eyes either.” “It’s fine, perfect even. But put it somewhere else before Tracy comes up in here.” “Right.” Max loosened latches and plucked the painting. She stashed it in her closet for safekeeping and hurried back. “Okay, now get out.” “You need to clean your room,” he barked, kicking her things. “This don’t make no damn sense, Max. You a hunnit years old, bruh.” “I’m a creative! I don’t have time to clean, now go.” Shoving his butt with a foot made him stumble and laugh. She closed the door and was met with her father’s displeasure. “Elliot, I didn’t know you were stopping by. Tomorrow night, we have a run to make.” “Sure thing. Just text me.” “Excellent. And why are you wearing those in the house, Maxine? Is it because of our guest?” “Duh,” she replied. “After the stunt you pulled, please. I will lock your bank account.” Tracy had the capacity to be a reeeal jerk. “Sorry, Dad.” “Hm. Elliot, would you care for a bite, libations?” “No, I’m good, Tracy.” Her dad nodded and turned on his heels. Low leaned into her ear and whispered, “This is why I said you need to move out. He treats you like a child. And what stunt? What you do now?” “Nothing, and shhh.” He mumbled and cussed. Low hated how cooped up she was, and how Tracy forgot her age sometimes. Her father had been strict and judgmental her entire life. And yeah, her mental state took a blow every single night. But right now, Max didn’t have many options. There was more at stake than her pride. “Come on,” she ordered. Tip-toeing ahead, Max fought a rising urge to giggle like an idiot. She stopped, looked back at Low, gripped the handle as tightly as possible, and twisted. It turned silently, thus allowing her the ability to peek into Tracy’s office. She couldn’t see anything. “Where is he?” Low asked and was too damn loud. “Are you trying to get us caught, shut—” The brass was ripped from her clutches and god damn, his zipper was in her direct line of sight. Snapping upright, Max retreated, bumping Low’s hard body. Red was a lot bigger. She was stuck between two males who were well over six feet tall, and being five-three, she was positively dainty. “What the fuck are y’all doing?” Red asked. “Don’t be rude,” Low commanded. “We was coming to say hello, witcho mean ass.” Red filled the doorway, just like Low. And her homie wasn’t even Pureblooded, hm. Not so big now, huh. Max felt better for Low, honestly. Purebloods thought they were superior to all others, or so she was told. Never talking to one on a personal level, until now. His fierce, golden gaze traveled between them. “Are you two joined at the hip?” he intoned. “Do you go everywhere she does?” “If I did? What business is it of yours?” Max smiled and pursed her lips. “That’s right, so what if he follows me like a stray?” “Hol’ on, Max. ‘Cause you taking the shit too far, per usual.” Jack, Jacob, crap…what was his name? “Look here, Jack,” Low interjected. She found it hilarious when they did shit like think the same but on different wavelengths. “Only my mother calls me Jack. Don’t say it again.” Low chuckled. “Wait. Is your name Jack? For real? I didn’t even know.” “She knows my name.” “I don’t.” “I told you my name.” Max grimaced, twiddled her matte black nails, and clicked her tongue ring. “I forgot it. So…” “She ain’t good with names.” Low snorted and knocked on Max’s skull. She swiped and smacked his hand. “Her short-term memory is terrible, bruh.” The male cocked a brow and said, “You forgot my name? I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Listen, if you two are only fucking—” She shoved the strapping stag while Low shushed him. “Get your hands off me,” he balked, wiping the stain her hands left behind. “Sorry. Look, don’t go saying that out loud, okay? We are not together. Me and Low. Not a couple. And definitely not, fucking.” “Annnd, that’s your name? Low?” Low ate it up. “Ohhh yeah, it’s on my SSI card.” “You got a problem,” Red clipped. “So do you.” This was weird, but Low’s expression made their standoff quite interesting. She’d play Red like a god damn violin if need be, and if big Irish over here was feeling froggy, it was about to go down.
Low swung a telling eye to Max, stomped around the red-haired monster, and collapsed onto the lived-in oxblood armchair. This was a fun experiment. Scanning Tracy’s new office, he smirked. “Daaammmn, it’s clean in here.” “It is,” Max said, clearly amazed. “There are books on the shelf. Oh my god, did you do this?” “Your pops is a slob.” “She got it from him.” Low threw in his unwanted two cents and grinned. Predictable of her to snarl and hiss. “Don’t show out in front of company, Max.” “So she’s not always like this?” “She is, I just ignore it.” “Now you’re lying,” she snapped. Low smiled and showcased the golds she loved so much. Within the awkward silence, he pulled free a book and cracked it open. “I’m more of a Langston man myself. I don’t like non-fiction.” After a few boring words leaped from the page, Low closed the hardback. “You’ve read Langston Hughes?” He pushed the leather-bound novel back in its place and nodded. “Yup. Listen, what we told you, keep that to yourself. ‘Ight?” While Red’s attention darted between them, again, Low considered their new acquaintance. “Ohhh, so daddy doesn’t know.” The male smirked as most demons do and stuck both hands into pressed wool pockets. “He wouldn’t approve, or something to that effect. I get it. Sad. What a way to live. But if you two—” “No.” Max refused for a third time as she dropped to a crouch. “Holy crap, you’ve been busy with his finances.” “She’s free to fuck whomever, as am I.” Low carried on their conversation, keeping his voice all the way down. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. “We, aren’t a thing. She do her, I do me, etc.” Taking another L wasn’t on the calendar for this year. “That’s amusing and—don’t touch that,” Red yelled, spooking Max. She flinched and knocked a perfect pile of eight by eleven folders on they ass. Low thought it was hilarious, but Red, did not. Purebloods were high-strung, arrogant, and bat shit. He’d been around them his whole life. Aged Purevian males, in particular, were the worst. On the other hand, a big ol’ angry vampire was fun to poke. Also, they’d occasionally put you in a sleeper hold and smash until you slipped into a coma. “Oh my god, I spent an hour on that shit. I’m gonna lose it. You are costing your father money right now.” “So, he good, he can pay for it,” Max stated plainly, glaring at her house guest. “See, I can fix it.” “Maybe don’t touch anything else.” Red became rather agitated. Low caught a notion that this here male was a neat freak, on some ‘dont leave no fingerprints on my glass’ type shit. Red squinted, flexing his sharp jaw. “I feel like you’re gonna make it worse.” “No look, I can do it.” Max gathered papers with a cute smile and stacked them. “Maybe I can be a receptionist.” “Where?” Red asked. “Harley Davidson?” Low cackled. “Cold blooded, bruh.” Max was tough as boiled shoe leather when provoked and had an angry streak to match. You know, ‘cause she was so tiny. The small ones always had something to prove. They were mad, ferocious spitfires. That’s why he loved short women. His shorty wasn’t insensitive, but she’d make damn sure to hurt your feelings. And as Max painted on a fake smile, she shoved another pile. Then a second. She emptied folders and shuffled them shits like dominoes. “He he he, funny times over, Carrot Top. I can still tase you.” Standing tall-ish, she shrugged while the fair-skinned vampire flushed a brighter shade of red. His hair wouldn’t be outdone; it was the same hue as a ripe pomegranate. “Do you dye it?” Low asked. “What?!” The accountant snapped and scowled at Low. “What are you talking about?” “Your hair?” Low gestured to his own durag. “Do you dye it to get it that red?” “No.” “Wild. It’s heavy white people shit. What is you? Irish or Scottish?” “He’s magically delicious,” Max belted. “A bowl of L-” “I swear to god, if you say—” “What are you going to do exactly?” Max canted her head and grimaced. “Are you an abuser? Because if so, that’s deplorable behavior.” “I got pahtna’s who can fit you with a toe tag for nothin’.” Low wasn’t playing with them words. “Believe that. So the choice is yours, pretty boy.” Red anchored a steely gaze upon Low and tweaked a brow. “Are you threatening me, halfbreed?” Thinking about it, Low admired the coffered ceiling, his boot-clad feet, then Max. Meeting Red deadass in the eyes, he nodded. “Yes, I am.” GQ here was a paper pusher. A Pureblood, sure, but still just an accountant. Age didn’t correlate with wisdom. Old heads were often taught quick lessons by a hungry YN who’d do the most to eat. Red didn’t seem the type to scrap with the likes of Low. Most halfbreeds cowered under a Pureblooded male’s scrutiny. Not him. Low wasn’t intimidated by no fucking body. “Wus good witchu, pimp?” Low asked, knowing the dapper white man wouldn’t comprehend his query. As his eyes narrowed, Red smiled and popped them dimples. That was some sexy shit to say the least. Mister number cruncher pivoted and refocused on Max. “Get out.” “You’re in my house.” “I’m in your father’s house, now get, out.” “I can make him fire you.” “I don’t care,” Red said. “By all means.” After two long strides, his wide frame fell into the squeaky executive chair and rocked. “No sweat off my back. I’ll get paid for my time regardless.” Low slapped his thighs and pushed off. “Let’s go, baby, ‘fore he has a cornea.” As he opened the door, Max paused and threw a salty look at the tight-ass accountant. “Don’t get testy, Big Red, I’ll take it to hell and rip your dic—” Low yanked her mouthy self by the collar. “I’m gonna kill you!” Holding her two feet from the floor, Low glanced at the vampire. “Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.” Max screamed and kicked as Low closed the door. “Put me down!” He dropped her. “Gently, would have been nice!” “You want that man to murder you? ‘Cause if you keep talking, he finna pop off, then I’ma retaliate and thhhhen I’ll get pinched. Who’s gonna take care of my brothers? See the snowball there?” Max grumbled and stalked to the kitchen. Low followed and stopped at the fridge for a quick bottle of B-positive. “You so ill-tempered,” Low said. “I’m not.” “Please lie to somebody who don’t know you.” On the counter, he found sugar and snagged it. “What you do earlier, anyway?” “I accused him of stalking me, and I guess I said something about calling the police. Then I questioned his intellectual status.” Low laughed curtly, shoveled a tablespoon of C & H, and poured it in his blood. “Whew, you might regret this.” Five more were added before he twisted the top back on and shook it. Facing Max, who sat on the island enjoying a blueberry scone, he winced. “Disgusting.” “It’s a delicacy.” “Anyway, he’s feisty, bruh.” Cracking the top again, he swigged, and Max shuddered. “You are the only vampire on the planet who adds sugar to blood, and drinks it cold. You committing a sin and upsetting our bloodsucker ancestors.” She shook her head and bit into a real cardinal sin. “Like, it’s abominable what you be doing. Weirdo shit.” Swallowing, the revival began. He liked sweet blood, okay. What was so wrong with that? Low drank cold blood for hella long. Back when he was living on the streets, and it was hurricane season… a living hell. You break into the blood bank and take what you can get. True, it’d be easier to bite any old body, but he vowed a long time ago to never hunt again…ever. “Says you,” Low deadpanned, “Who deep throats anything blueberry.” “Yeah, and? That’s normal. It’s good for you too.” “When you add refined sugar, flour, and butter, that healthy factor is out the window.” She shrugged. “It ain’t for a lack of trying.” Max giggled and stuffed the rest in her talented mouth. Fuck, he hated sneaking and creeping. Lying to his employer wasn’t a safe bet, but such is life, right? After finishing sixteen ounces of revitalizing power, Low rinsed the mason jar and put it in the dishwasher. “I hate the sunglasses, they ugly.” “Much like you, fat head.” He double-backed and stood before her. A war raged within as he fought an urge to kiss the ornery devil. He loved the tiny stud in her full and fluffy bottom lip. Low never felt it when it was pressed to his. And when she wore the black lipstick he loved? Max was untouchable. “I don’t like that neon yellow durag. You look like a highlighter, bitch.” “Why you gotta put extra on it every time?!” He frowned. “Do I ever call you a bitch? Nah, you’d be hollerin’ if I did. You get on my ghat damn nerves.” Max popped a shoulder and jumped off the counter. “It depends on the context, Low. And it ain’t extra when I’m telling the truth.” “Shutcho mouuuuff, stubborn ass, that’s your problem, bruh, you talk too much.” Following her onto the patio, Low figured he probably did look like a lost puppy. “I swear, you ‘bouta make me smoke…” “Annnnd? Bye!” Max scoffed, whistled at Jaya, and smiled at him. “We got steaks up in the deep freezer. You wanna grill some later?” “Sounds like a plan.” The back and forth never ceased, but there wasn’t a soul he felt more comfortable with. As Max cheered on Jaya, for a record-setting lap, his stomach dropped. If Tracy ever found out, it was a wrap. He’d give Low the boot and make damn sure Max never spoke to him again. Tracy let him know early on that Maxine was off limits. Forbidden. But Low ain’t listen, and the girl wouldn’t take no for an answer. Their vibe thrived from the start, shaking it was hard. Both parties tried and failed. More than once. They decided mutually to cut ties on four separate occasions. Shit flopped. So, he and Max said to hell with it. Letting worrisome thoughts go, he trekked back into the house, in search of the high-priced T-Bone’s Maxi loved.
Oooooookay, this is chapter 7! If you missed it, just know, I posted the wrong one last night. What a mess, I know I already said it, but I am so sorry. Anyway, this is where we are at. I like to call them the Troublesome Trio. If you stick it out and follow their journey, you’ll understand why. These three are headache-inducing, cute, adorable, aggravating, and have sooooo much to learn. I hope you enjoyed their not-so-meet-cute. Anyway, I really hope y’all have a splendid week. I’ll see you in a bit. Thank you so much!
Tracy missed newspaper stands and bookstores. Those days were sadly gone. 2028 was the year of digital re-branding and a paperless boom. Printing presses were shutting down all over. A tree hugger’s dream come true. Of course, you could still read the Sunday Times, for a ridiculous monthly fee. Paywalls and dollar signs were the wave of the future if you sought to know anything of substance. Horse shit. A paper used to cost ten cents. Now, twenty bucks, and he had to scroll or swipe. Kindles were a joy, but sometimes, he rather the aroma of ink and parchment. Tracy sighed in defeat, returned to the latest issue of Forbes and… swiped left. Tech start-ups were the rage. Tracy pondered on it for a spell, but knew nothing about technology aside from phones and e-readers. He still owned an LCD TV and a Gateway desktop that had seen far too many repairs. Tracy was having a swell moment with his espresso, reading material, and Bossa jazz, until Max, made her presence known for the fourth time. She groaned and undoubtedly wanted something. Placing his cup on a saucer, he eyed the girl. “Sit up, child.” She sighed again, but did as instructed. “And take those ridiculous shades off at the table. Good god, you know better.” It was akin to watching an adolescent pick at food they had no intention of eating. Sliced bone in ham, poached eggs, blueberry scones, and fresh strawberries could have been worse. Not to mention Jaya went through the trouble of cooking. “I hope you eat what she has painstakingly prepared.” “Yes, I am.” “What’s wrong, Maxine?” Her eyes and head lifted. “I wanna go somewhere.” “Like where? Orlando?” “No,” she snipped, staring at a full plate. “Like, a trip.” Tracy’s lips thinned as an arched brow spoke of his displeasure. “You know that’s out of the question.” “And why, exactly?” “Because it’s not safe.” “For whom?” she asked, crossing her arms, defiant as ever. Maxine had always been a handful, since the day she learned to walk. “I’m almost a centennial.” “Age has absolutely nothing to do with this. Hunters are running rampant. They are free to do as they please, and kill indiscriminately. I rather not risk—” “You travel all the time,” she countered. “For work, and you know that.” Fork and knife in hand, Tracy sliced into his chickpea and mushroom omelet. A subject change was a splendid idea, as he would not budge on the matter. Ever. Besides, her presence was direly needed. “How many customers did you have last night?” Tracy asked. “I don’t know, I was off.” He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and draped the fine material over his crossed legs. “It’s Friday, which means you were off three days in a row.” “The shop can take care of itself. Ndari is technically the manager while Tilt is on vacation.” “I understand,” he said, holding his tongue. “But your job is to ensure everything is in working order. We will be audited soon.” She dropped arms and returned to her meal. “Why are you just now telling me?” “It slipped my mind quite honestly. Tedious business. I sifted through mounds of paperwork for hours, to no avail. So, I hired someone.” “Like an accou…” Tracy narrowed his gaze, warning made clear. “Do not, talk with your mouth full. It’s uncouth and not how a woman behaves.” Most probably assumed she was raised in an unkempt, rowdy home. No, never that. Far from it. This was Maxine’s way of acting out because she knew he disproved of tattoos, piercings and the hair. By god, it reminded him of rebellious punks. White and turquoise tresses turned the girl into a spectacle. She’d sullied herself so much, at this point, there was no going back. Anything in the corporate world was out the realm of possibility. No one would hire a woman with the word ‘manifest’ riding her left brow. His daughter had two options, the tattoo shop or marry high. The latter had been a tough road to traverse. “So, you hired an accountant?” Maxine asked. “Indeed.” As a bit of espresso washed down the omelet, Tracy smiled at Jaya’s approach. “Ah, you are a gem. Thank you.” “Nooo problem,” she sang, offering two steaming mugs of b-positive. “Figured you’d need it.” “Why don’t you join us, Jaya? You’ve made more than enough.” She assessed their set up and shrugged. “I guess. I was gonna go for a swim in a minute, but I could eat.” Tracy, ever the chivalrous type, pushed out her chair. “Look at you, Tracy. Thank you.” “You are very welcome, here…” Being of use, he grabbed two scones and dropped them on her plate then added a thick slice of ham. She didn’t like strawberries, so he left those, but slid a poached egg in there as well. “Thanks.” Jaya beamed. Tracy nodded and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Cheeks heating to a degree, he pulled away and looked to Maxine. She was amused. Clearing his throat, Tracy handled the mug and downed its contents. Nectar of the gods. Their very own fountain of youth. Blood kept them spry and lively. He enjoyed feeding more than any other pleasure. It was better than sex. Or so he recalled such. It’d been years… decades since… Tracy swallowed the last drop along with unpleasant memories. “Delightful,” he announced. “You might have tasted it if you slowed down.” Jaya smiled and he followed suit. “It was delicious.” “I know,” Jaya said, with a frown. “I don’t like vegans, their blood is thin. But it’s fresh as all heck.” “Yes, indeed. That’s why I prefer it.” “Fattier the better, in my opinion,” Max interrupted. “You love a decent hearty sip, honey.” Jaya leaned over and lightly pinched the girl’s cheek. Tracy found her affection satisfying. It was good to know Max received comfort from someone. He wasn’t a toucher, a feeler, or a hugger. The experience was nauseating. Tracy avoided affections as if they’d cause him harm. “So, Dad. This accountant, can you trust them?” “With what?” She stared and blinked. “Ah, yes. I doubt he’ll find anomalies and if so, people and silence can be bought.” “That seems risky,” Jaya replied, voice echoing her concern. “I assure you, all is well.” Tracy polished off the espresso and dabbed his lips once more. “They’ll be here shortly, in fact.” “Here?” Max questioned. “Yes, is that a problem?” She shrugged and bit into a strawberry. “It feels counter productive. Too many eyes and ears. After what happened last week, I think you should be cautious.” Tracy recoiled. “No one is more wary than I.” Jaya nearly lost her apple juice and his daughter sniggered. “I am.” “You try to be,” Max hedged. “But we don’t even have an alarm system in this house. Which, I have said, is a bad idea. Since like, forever.” “Like… forever?” Tracy mocked, in his best Valley Girl accent. “You kids these days and the word ‘like’.” “Morgan Freeman is younger than me.” Jaya laughed and he smirked at the slight. “So truuuue and he’s been old for a long ass time.” “Jaya,” He chuckled, steadied himself and made certain to remain composed. “I’m serious, she looks great. Being older than Father Time.” Maxine and Jaya got a good laugh as the doorbell chimed. Their illustrious caretaker rose with haste, Tracy stopped her. “I’ll get it, you eat.” “Fine by me.” On the way, he stroked his cashmere sweater vest and snapped the hem. When satisfied, he yanked the door wide and smiled. “Ah yes, Mr. Aubrey.” The towering male clutched his palm and entered. “What a magnificent home you have.” “It’s modest,” Tracy added. And it was, before he and Jaya remodeled every square inch. “So, would you like coffee, warm red, or a snack, before we begin?” Mr. Aubrey spun with eyes high and nodded. “I’ll take caffeine, six lumps and extra cream.” Liquid sugar it is. “Sure, follow me. I’ll have something made for you.” “Splendid.” They weaved through formal dining and crossed into the kitchen, where Maxine gasped. “Is you fuckin’ with me right now?!” “Maxine!” Tracy shouted. Jaya shot to her feet in a hurry. She had better calm the girl.
Hoe. Lean. Shit. This must be a joke. No way in hell. “So I turn you down, and you follow me home?!” The chair screeched as she hopped to. Her five-foot nothing ass glared behind dark frames. He knew it. The sneer was unmatched. “You have nerve. This some stalker shit. I’ll call the cop—have you been stalking me?!” “Maxine Bissette, by god. You calm down this instant.” “Dad, he’s a predator.” “What?” Tracy snapped, confused as hell. “Get him outta here, Jaya.” Short Stack was audacious stepping to him. “Or I’ll cut his ass.” This girl behind the sunglasses might provoke him to say some crazy shit. He didn’t enjoy her disrespect or the scene. As an old, Purevian, or Pureblood, as the world called them, this was top-tier challenging behavior. But… AB bit his tongue. ‘Cause he loved money. No matter how small the amount. Tracy grunted and said, “He is the accountant I hired. You’ve mistaken this gentleman for someone else, I fear, and, humiliated him.” A distinct clicking in her mouth riled an extra dose of curiosity. Steel and enamel, was it?. “He’s—yo—you? Mhm. You hired him?” “Yes.” She nodded and glanced at a tall, hovering female. “Wooooow.” Back to him, she shrugged. “Small world, huh?” AB grinned. “Very.” “Well, I’ll leave you tw—” “Apologize.” She groaned at Tracy’s demand but AB appreciated it. Basking in the moment, he lifted his chin and waited for her loud mouth self to say sorry. “Dad, I don’t think that is really nec—” “In my house, you will apologize after spitting vulgarities and accusing someone of crimes not committed.” Her head bobbed from left to right as arms crossed. She huffed and muttered, “I’m sorry.” “For?” Tracy prompted. “Imsorryforcussingandaccusingyouofstalkingme. Can I go now?” When her father slashed a hand, she vanished, sprinting away. An elegant floral scent swirled, tickling his fancy. “My goodness, Mr. Aubrey, I do so apologize.” “Jaxon, please.” “I haven’t the words, Jaxon.” He paused for a tick, brows furrowing. “My daughter lacks decorum and etiquette. I don’t know where it came from. Jaya, will you please prepare our guest a cup of coffee? Five sugars and extra cream.” “Coming right up.” “Oh, is this the wife?” Tracy winced and chuckled. His hazel eyes dilated and the female dropped a saucer. They were nervous. Cute. “No, no. I uh, no.” Tracy snickered again. “My dearest died years ago.” “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He dismissed the condolence and pivoted. “Jaya, he will be in my office.” “Okay.” Her high pitched reply was adorable. They were onto something. AB smelled it in the air. “Shall we?” They cut a u-turn and AB trailed. He took quick notice of large comfy couches, a mounted seventy-inch TV and a fire ass recliner in the family room. Tracy lived the good life. White walls and dark stone. Medieval with a modern twist, if that was a thing. Keeping on course, they trekked across the foyer and he clocked a sumptuous formal area. Sofa, coffee table and armchairs. AB checked everything and quickly established a median income. This gave him something to work with. The house ran an easy mil, at least, maybe one-point-seven. Tracy could afford one-forty an hour. Hell yeah. On their way down a compact hallway, he felt like a rat in a shoe box. This was an old floorplan. Passing a closed door stinking of flowers, AB gathered a deep breath. That was her space. ‘Max’s’ room. Funny how he got her name anyway. A nd the way it happened blew is fucking mind. Small world and beyond. As their journey ended in the office, AB dropped his Botega on the desk and suddenly remembered what it felt like to sleep in a coffin. The stuffy, confined feeling intensified by the second. Tracy was unorganized, a hoarder, perhaps. It wasn’t uncommon for their kind to collect things. Hoarding their loot and gold pieces like sleeping dragons. Papers and books were strewn about in piles and on the floor. Ohhh god damn it! Jaxon knew before Tracy even opened the gates of hell what this was about. “And here are my files.” “Excellent,” AB chimed, though screaming inside while his blood boiled. Why the fuck, would you throw financial records in plastic tubs?! “I need you to be aware, that my hourly rate will need to be augmented. This is stodgy, wearisome work and will take me at least a week to sort proper.” “Whatever you want.” AB’s eye twitched. “Ballpark? Two-hundred dollars an hour, but that might change.” “Sure.”
The tide changed swiftly. This particular equation wasn’t adding up. Tracy had a million-dollar spot, a Jeep, a Rav-4, and a lowly Lexus out front. The cost of living in this neighborhood was highhh. Upkeep and utilities. Mr. Bissette had a maid, for Christs sake. He couldn’t afford two- hundred bones an hour for a week. Which translated to 14k, maybe more. If AB milked overtime, and he would, because cream that thick got his dick hard. “Okay, let me get started.” Wagging a finger, AB smirked. “I’m going to need that coffee.” “Yes, sir.” “Oh and Tracy, if you don’t mind, may I tidy a bit? I’ll make certain you’ll know where everything is.” “Whatever you must do, feel free.” “Greeeeat. Thank you so much.” Tracy nodded and hit the exit as AB observed the trash heap. There was no reason for it to look like this. None. He removed the TF suit jacket, vest, and tie. After rolling sleeves, AB dug in a pocket for his buds and shoved them in each ear. Play No Games was a winner, so he kept it. Big Sean had classics. “Where to start is the question.” The desk was overwhelmed with notebooks and journals. He wouldn’t invade Tracy’s privacy, so he stacked them tower style. From largest to smallest. Bills were stashed in the file cabinet he alphabetized. Then, the planners. Why keep them? “What the fu—” He grunted at the unnecessary clutter and moved them to the bookshelf housing biographies and novels on the African American struggle. Some AB had read himself. James Baldwin was a masterclass, and Maya Angelou was his favorite poet, next to Langston. He dusted shelves and sorted. Paperbacks and hardcovers weren’t to touch. This wasn’t his house, but that shit drove him up the fucking wall. He went by last name, as was expected. When finished, the eight-foot oak behemoth looked better. AB accomplished said tasks in under ten minutes; vampire abilities were a godsend. A knock forced him to pause, Hall and Oats, and greet the hostess. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Aubrey. I apologize for the wait.” She placed his beverage on the desk and shrugged. “I had to clean a few other things.” “No biggie, thank you.” “Thank yo—I mean, you’re wellcooome.” She blushed. He was used to such behaviors. “Jaya, right?” “Yeah, you remembered.” From fifteen minutes ago. “Sure did.” She was pretty, gorgeous even. Long, dark spirals flanked classical features. Green eyes, freckles, and a sepia complexion. No wonder Tracy was smitten. “Okay…uhhh, I’ll leave you to it.” “Yes. I may need more coffee, though.” “I’ll set a pot aside just for you. And by the way, nice job.” She gestured at his work. “I have never seen it this clean. Tracy won’t let me touch his things.” “Well, Mr. Bissette didn’t have a choice with me.” He smiled and she turned coy. “I’ll leave you to it,” she recited again. “Alrighty.” Jaya backed out and waved. He lifted a hand and sighed when she vanished. “0ookay.” AB went for the dainty teacup and growled at a black hole. “I really hate you.” In an act of war, folders slid from the pile and fluttered onto the floor face down. “You mangy bitch. This is some good coffee. Sheesh.” He drank the rest in one gulp and set it aside. AB fixated on the battlefield and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do the damned thing.” Sitting cross-legged in the closet, he pulled out shit. Fifteen boxes, six briefcases, and three full tubs. AB snagged a manila folder and skimmed. Taxes. A home he no longer owned. Great. Throwing that, he found another. House number two, three, four, five…more followed. “What the hell.” His turnover rate was quick. Every two years. That was mad moves. A lot of waste, honestly. No way he got a decent return. The tub gained his interest. And you know whaaaaat? Tracy bought tons of property and sold it post haste. Gaining with some, losing with others. Maybe he flipped houses or some shit. A vampire keeping equity for an extended period turned the waters murky. Boats, yachts, vacation homes. He had to have a digital trail. It was unavoidable these days, and activity of this sort might raise some eyebrows. Those of the human persuasion. Hm. Setting aside his suspicion, AB compiled it. Equity and depreciating assets. There was a lot and some of it wasn’t even in his name. Probably an alias, which may have saved his ass more than once. Even AB had three names on deck. Jaxon Aubrey was dead on paper. To everyone else, he was Barton Sparks, Alexander Urchin, or Tucker Roberts. He’d be Jaxon again, in fifty years or so. It was the closest to Jack he’d ever get, seeing as he’d left the boy in Ireland eons ago. With speed and efficiency, AB formed neat stacks. They’d be much higher in a few hours. “I’m definitely going to need more coffee.”
What’s good? I hope y’all are having a swell week. Not too much to report. I am taking some time off, but I have vowed to keep a steady pace with posting. I am going to try my best to post Neon Red on Fridays and Patchwork on Mondays. My day job hours are all over the place, so there’s no telling when I can edit and then post, but I’m doing my ultimate best, y’all. Still trying to see what works and what doesn’t. This week, we are reacquainted with Tracy. He’s overbearing and a pain in my ass, though he has reasons. As I have said before, y’all will hate him by the end of this book. But keep reading, he may surprise you. And with a new chapter comes another chance at meeting Jaxon. On occasions, this man works for the monarchy (underground vampire kingdom with a long history and five books of its own, I finished seven years ago) as an auditor. He’s great with numbers and loves monotony. Im super excited because this is where the journey truly begins. The moment when our trouple gets the page time they deserve. I hope y’all have a lovely weekend and don’t be doomscrolling. Shit is too real out there, y’all. Please stay safe and give yourself grace. Thank you so much for reading! See you next week.
Nine in the morning was too early. Bullshit before his first sip of coffee? Erroneous. This was too much for a sober workday. Blinking and listening, Jo ignored the chirping voice in the back of his head. The one telling him to do something outlandish. His magical dark fae biology begged for blood. Jo slurped and grinned as hot, life-giving bean juice burned his throat. “Am I a clown to you?” Mr. Voaremont asked. “Did I make a god damn joke?” Jo dropped the smile and set his mug on the front desk. “No, suh. I had a long night, and the coffee hitting this morning.” “You’re welcomeeee,” Marci sang from behind, tapping them keys. Trevor sneered, forcing Jo to speak. “I know you’re upset, but—“ “This isn’t me upset, Sheriff. In fact, I’m fine. If I were upset, that mother fucker wouldn’t be bre—“ “Let’s not be hasty, Mr. Voaremont. You’re talking to a man of the law. Threatening folks ain’t nice, and depending on how deep it is, might land you in some legal trouble. Threatening the Queen’s consort, however, can and will be seen as a declaration of war.” The angry, ugly white man with skunk breath rubbed his face and pointed at Jo. He didn’t appreciate it, a wing twitched with mounting irritation. Anyone else would’ve bitten his digit clean off. Jo’s stomach lurched at the thought of that dirty ass finger in his mouth. “I don’t give a shit who he is. I’m pressing charges.” “You have every right to do that.” “But you’re telling me, because of his status, the queen has to clear it first?” “Yeah.” “What use are you then?” “Common folk do exist ‘round here.” Mr. Voaremont groaned, slammed a fist on the desk, and grumbled. His antics got Powell’s attention. The ninety-year-old werewolf wasn’t about no bull and didn’t take kindly to outsiders, neither. Also, he hated the Voaremont clan for reasons he hadn’t stated. “We got a problem here, son?” The seasoned deputy approached with a hand on his ancient revolver. “What can I do you for?” Trevor re-assessed, obviously. Powell was fully gray with a bad knee, but he was big as hell with arms the size of whiskey barrels and a smoky timbre even grown grizzlies envied. The city boy bowed out like an intelligent bitch and ran fingers through his hair. “What do I need to sign?” “Marci,” Jo called, spinning in his steel toes, “Get this man his papers.” “Way ahead of you, baby.” “Thank youuuuuu.” Jo gulped his brew and smiled at Kit’s knitted brow. He scribbled in his notebook and hummed, as if pleased. The demon looked up from an elegant script and squinted. His eyes were unnatural, large, and a dazzling shade of lavender. “So, one must file a report after a crime?” “Mhm, yeah.” “Becasuuuuuse you have to investigate the matter?” “You got it.” “So there are no mind scribes to sort through their memories? How tiresome.” Jo canted his head and dropped into his squeaky chair. He didn’t have an office, only a desk. Right next to Renata’s. Their workspace was small but functional. One breakroom, one bathroom, and two jail cells. Not much else. With only four deputies and two dispatchers, they didn’t need a lot. “I think you on to something,” Joe muttered. “But we ain’t never needed it really. Nothing to investigate.” “What about the Platter Boys?” “Yeah, we gon’ see about them in a bit.” Kit stroked his smooth chin and hummed again. “What about gun crime? Knife crime? Magical crimes? Arson, vandalism, and theivery? You don’t have such problems here?” Joe laughed and shook his head. “Nahhh. Look, Indigo Plains is a place of peace. Folks don’t come here looking for shady shit. They go to Carver or Misthill for that. Crime be so low here ‘cause this where the Queen lives. Folks know better than to run crazy with her right up the street. My great-grandma don’t take no mess. It makes my job easier.” “Speak for yourself,” Powell said in passing. “Lazy, good for nothing. Mr. Inkwells dog bit the milkman. Sadie Nile accidentally shot her boy in the ass while hunting. He wants to press charges on his own mama, the bitch. And Pickle got so drunk last week he tipped a god damned bison. You don’t do that! Them is sacred animals. Ogres, think they own the world. I might take him to the high court behind this.” The old man grumped and sat at his desk. He kicked his feet up and crossed them with a hand on his mouse. He loved digital solitaire most and was probably in the middle of his fifth game. Powell earned the right after serving as Sheriff for thirty-five years. “That ain’t crime, bruh. That’s town shenanigans.” Jo giggled into his mug while Powell glared. He swigged and said, “Anyway, major crime isn’t a problem, and I don’t go searching for it ‘niether. I keep out of townsfolk business unless called. I don’t wear a pistol and—“ “You need to,” Powell piped. “Play your little game and stay out of my mouth, damn.” Kit tapped on his notebook and nodded. “I understand, completely. And you know what? I find this all quite fascinating. Even in the most affluent Undervell neighborhood, someone is bound to get stabbed or disemboweled.” “Demons. Y’all too sensitive.” “I know you ain’t talking,” Marci said, on her way to the restroom. “Crybaby ass.” “I pay you!” She slammed the door, and Jo cussed. “Folks don’t respect me around here.” “Insubordination, check.” Kit cocked a manicured brow and sniffed. “You should take a toe for their back talk.” Jo lost his coffee and howled in laughter. He redecorated his desk with heavy cream, dark roast, marshmallow creamer, five cubes of sugar, and whipped cream. “Excuse me?!” Powell barked. Kit shrugged. “Where I come from, there are consequences for such treachery.” “Treacheryyyy? Whoa, bruh. Calm down. You gotta relax.” Jo accepted the napkin Marci offered and wiped his goatee. “You a mess, you know that? Can’t slip around you, Kit.” The demon straightened and gave an affirmative nod. “I don’t tolerate disrespect in my ranks.” Jo’s brows hit the ceiling. “Ranks? What ranks?” “My militia. Battalion. I see over five and have won my fair share of battles. Not without incident, mind you. I have tried my damndest to not—“ “Wait waiiiiiiit.” Waving his hands, Jo laughed. “You? A commander or head honcho of the military?” “General. The one and only general of King Spires army.” It was unimaginable. This here man is some cutthroat vet. It was wrong judging folks by their cover, Jo’s mama taught him better, and with GG Nieema’s past, he knew better, but daammmmnnnn. Kit was shorter than Jo. Five-nine and cute as a button. Fat cheeks, dimples, and a soft, round frame, he looked like a fucking demonic doll. Kit was scared of the woods and flinched at any old sound. He’d told Jo about the tiny stuffed Feldspar pooch—whatever that was—he carried in his bag. It made him feel safe. That same man was a general… of an army. To think Kit a ruthless killer was absurd. Jo glanced at Powell, who scoffed. “I call bullshit.” “Good sir! Are you calling me a liar? Because there is nothing to gain in me doing so. I don’t even like—“ Kit clamped his mouth shut and slapped his notebook closed. “When are we leaving? I want to settle this buffoonery with the Platter Boys post haste.” “Post haste? Bufoooonery?” Marci giggled, “What year do you think it is, Sherlock?” “What?” Marci cackled and tapped Jo’s shoulder. Her peridot eyes twinkled as she rocked in her chair. The sensual tree nymph was gorgeous and top-heavy. “Uhhmm, Buck did call earlier. Said he wanted to talk to you about some weird cult shit.” “Huh?” Jo winced and shook his head. “Cult shit? I don’t—what?” Marci popped a shoulder and went back to her business of writing. She was fifty years old and tech-savvy. Jo didn’t know a damn thing about computers; that’s why he never owned one. The woman wrote action and suspense novels in her downtime, or so she told him. Marci was talk of the town with her pistachio complexion, wide hips, and autumn red afro. Everyone wanted a piece, except Jo. They’d been friends since birth, and he never once tried it. Not that she wasn’t attractive and built like a goddess, but he never thought of her as an option. Marci was his sister, best friend, and bodyguard. Folks tended to think Nymphs were gentle and peaceful creatures. They were, until you stepped on over to their bad side. “Damn,” Jo cursed. “This is the most action I’ve ever seen. We should go. Let’s roll fren!” “Finally!” Kit shot to his hooves and slung that purse over his shoulder. “Off to clean the streets! Swift, with a heavy hand. It’s time to impart law and order! Yes, let us roll.” Jo and Marci deadpanned each other until they erupted in a cackling fit. This man, demon, funny as hell newcomer would soon find himself bored with Indigo Streets. There wasn’t shit to tidy up, save for a few leaves wilting in the gutters.
“Go for their dammed innards!” Kit yelled, panting and winded beyond the usual. “Undergods taint! There’s more of them!” Indigo Plains was a beautiful, scenic wonder Kit had come to love in a matter of hours. He figured it quiet and quaint, even after the giant spider debacle. Perhaps he’d misjudged Indigo Plains because this was far from quiet. Jo flew overhead, swinging a lasso. “Jesus Christ! Powell bite their stems off!” The massive werewolf bounded after the monstrous gourd while the others corralled the smaller possessed pumpkins. Kit struck another with his axe and roared in victory. He swung and severed their stems. The strange, sentient devils squealed, scratched, and whipped his arms with their barbed, curled vines. “Vile beasts!” Kit ducked, rolled, and parried with swift, demonic precision. He missed the howling behemoth’s hoof by a hair. “They’re growing!” Jo was certain that when they arrived at the Platter ranch, their objective would be simple. Retrieve stolen goods, give a final warning, and relay Mr. Carol’s message. Kit assumed it’d be a breeze, given how adamant Jo had been. He reassured Kit on the way. This mission wouldn’t end in bloodshed. Kit had been hoping for a squabble and was saddened to learn, ‘Indigo just ain’t the place for that kinda thing.’ “I will flay you alive!” Kit shouted, slicing through a line of growling pumpkins. He squashed the tinier sort with his own hoof and batted away vines with bloody claws. Steaming gourd viscera pelted his face as their platoon handled the carnivorous savages. The troop was small but capable, each possessing their own skill set. With chaos erupting on the Platter Ranch, Kit called forth the heat wallowing in his roiling belly and expelled his fury. He sprayed a group of bloodthirsty abominations with his purple flame. The bulbous creatures exploded. Their entrails painted the day in gorgeous hues of death. One by one, they popped and melted. Their crew worked tirelessly and well. Kit was impressed with Jo’s deputies. He respected Powell’s brute strength and Renata’s drive to kill. And Jo, he was no fighter, but the young man had heart and ingenuity. He’d become their eyes in the sky and an important asset as he worked from above. His support was much appreciated and essential, as the gourds were unable to simply look up. Jo used the art of surprise to murder, and Kit loved that. Spewing fire, Kit galloped through the mass, flinging his axe. With the smaller pumpkins dead and dismembered with their scalps scattered about, they attacked the alpha. A tottering beast of ten feet and half the size of a cricket field. With Powell and Renata scaling the monstrous gourd, Kit aimed low. He chopped their squat, stalk legs. They flailed as Kit put his all into felling this beast. As he sliced into their limb, chunks of chitterlings rained upon him. Kit inhaled hot pumpkin stink and roared. He vowed never to eat pumpkin pie ever again. “Down with you!” Kit howled with a final swing of his axe. The wobbling giant squealed and screeched. “Jo! Take them down!” Jo was quick with his lasso. He snagged hold of its thick stem and pulled with every ounce of his might. The fairy was stronger than he appeared. His strength and ability were impressive. He managed to throw the monster off balance and yank it to the ground. Kit moved in and released a stream of fire, focusing on the stem. From outside and within, their group attacked. Renata crawled into the pumpkin’s wide, fang-filled maw and Powell heaved, pulling on the weakening stem. Kit was beaten, bloody, and exhausted, but he was elated to be of service. The cursed creature wailed its final breath as the stem snapped and separated from its dome. Not a beat later, the beast erupted. The blast plucked Kit off his hooves and sent him spiraling. Colors whirled as his lungs sputtered and heart skipped. He tumbled and twirled until crashing through solid wood. Mammal stink and hay. He dropped and bounced on impact. He had never been so thankful for animal shit in his life. Rolling onto his back, Kit groaned as a horse nipped at his horns. “Get—madam or sir, please! Do fuck off!” “Kit?! Kit!” He bolted upright and greeted Jo with a smile. “What a thrilling experience.” Jo laughed, climbed onto the heap of dried grass and excrement. He extended a hand Kit didn’t need but accepted nonetheless. “Thrilling, huh?” “Indeed.” Once steady and standing, Kit dusted himself off. It did absolutely fuck all, but it was something to do. “It’s been at least a year since I’ve had a good fight. This was just what I needed. I am refreshed!” “Bruh, refreshed is a strong word for somebody covered in horse shit.” Because the moment called for it and Jo had given Kit no other choice, he released a squeal of laughter. The snorting variant. The show of joy Kit reserved for kin. It was a dad joke, and Kit needed a decent chuckle after dueling with mutant pumpkins. Jo clapped Kit on the shoulder and sighed. “Let’s see what them boys got to say for themselves.” “Throw them in the pit!” “You know? We don’t got one of those, but I’ll keep it in mind.” “The pit has many uses, and to be frank, when you add flesh eaters, most tend to rethink their wasted life of crime.” Jo giggled as they marched toward the Platters’ home. “I bet.” Kit growled as the boys slouched and snivelled on the steps. They were scared, pathetic, and worried. Good, they should be. It was due time they served time for this foolery. Powell stomped outside, wearing the clothes he’d arrived in. “You boys got some talkin’ to do.” “I—we—we didn’t mean to—“ “Stealing?!” Renata shouted. “You didn’t mean to steal? Because that’s something you boys planned to do and have been doing for months. So tell us, what didn’t you mean? Speak up, Jed!” The woman troll person was large in stature. Much like a warrior demon from Undervell. Broad with hard planes and toned curves. The sun kissed her pink eyes just so. Its effect may have distracted Kit for a moment. “We only wanted to experiment,” Jed confessed. “Yeah.” The smaller of the three nodded and crossed his arms. He wiped tears and looked to his elder. “We only wanted to do some magic. That’s all. Mama said we had enough pumpkins and wann’t buyin’ nomore.” “So you decided to steal them? From Mr. Carol, of all people. Jed’s head hung low as he apologized. The middle brother, Sam, didn’t have much to say. He had reiterated what the others expressed and left it at that. “You gonna tell Mama?” Jed asked. Jo lifted his chin with a wing twitch. He studied the horizon and shook his head. Kit stepped in to set this right. These boys needed structure, and the fear of the Undergods struck into them. Consequences must be faced. Jo lifted a hand, and Kit quieted. This was not his army or his job at the moment. He had no authority here and understood. “I won’t tell Leah, under one condition.” “Name it,” Jed said. “You three will put in work. On the Cresstooth farm for six weeks. Three hours after school, Monday through Friday. I’mma give y’all slips Mr. Cressthooth will sign after each working day. You will earn ten dollars every hour. After them six weeks is up, you can have every dime earned.” “What magic were you boys foolin’ with anyway?” Renata asked. And it was a good inquiry considering they’d created monsters found only in the smoldering depths of Undervell. He shrugged, eyes pinned to the ground. “We want—we wanted to make our own haunted curiosities show for Hollwscream week. We already got some stuff cooked up, but Sam said we needed an attraction.” “Suhun’ to woo the audience,” Sam said. Kit scoffed at their waste of an entrepreneurial spirit. “Why didn’t y’all just ask somebody in town who knows magic?” The littlest brother huffed and kicked rocks. “Mama said we can’t be asking magic folk for stuff if we ain’t gon’ pay.” “Your mother seems wise,” Kit said. “You ought to listen to her.” “We did,” Jed interjected. “We got it our way.” Powell growled, making the Platter Boys shrink. “And you made a right fool of yourself. People could’ve died! If Jo hadn’t shown up there ain’t no telling what woulda happened.” “We’re sorry, Mr. Powell. We didn’t mean for none of this. Honest.” Jo nodded. “We hear you boys, but you’re still gonna handle your business at the goat farm. You understand? Jed, Samuel, Randy? You got me?” Jed lifted his watery stare and sniffled. “Yes, sir.” Kit wasn’t sure about human growth rates. But Jed looked to be fourteen, perhaps fifteen cycles. He’d remember this moment for the rest of his life, and good for him. It was a journey taken the hard way around, as Carriont would say. Thinking of his father, Kit grimaced. “A’ight, y’all.” Jo wrinkled his nose and spat a pumpkin seed. Kit shuddered at the sight and sound. “Go’on and wash up. We’ll call sanitation. This’ll be gone by the time your mama gets home.” The Platter Boys scrambled and ran inside, the odd door covering clapped shut behind them. “You went too light on them,” Renata said. “Back in my day,” Powell rumbled, “I would have been picking switches from that there peach tree.” “My father would have made me carry a pack loaded with severed heads and walk a hundred miles across the Shovah Badlands.” Kit examined his filthy, pumpkin-mucked claws. “It taught me discipline and character.” “And trauma,” Jo announced, smiling. “Abuse is not cute, and I feel sorry for y’all. Anyway! Come on, let’s help sanitation and get the hell outta here. I need a shower and a pan of Grandma’s scones.” “Maggie baked?” Kit asked, perking with the news. “She’s prepared more vestiges?” “Just for me!” Jo barked. “Get your own god damn scones, Kit.” “How rude. I am a guest, and as such I should get the first serving.” “Shiiiiiid.” Powell sniffed and glanced at Kit. “He’s possessive of his food and will bite you over Maggie’s.” Kit squared his sopping wet, poop-crusted shoulders. “Good thing I can take a bite or two.”
When I initially started this series, I knew I wanted a large cast. A cast of potential couples and family dynamics and shenanigans. I want Indigo Plains to be its own character and for y’all to live there and meet the community. I don’t want this world to feel stuffy or confined because there is so much I see for this place. There’s a lot of world-building going on for this world, for Ravensguard and territories beyond it. Everything else I write is so dark and serious. World-ending high-stakes type shit. I never wanted that for PWPF, and I still don’t. Y’all will get more chapters with more characters down the line. This season is focusing on Jasper, but I wanted to give these two some page time. For obvious reasons, Kit’s pov is important. I’m not apologizing for Jo’s arrival. I love him and Kit together. I’m still uncertain about where they are headed or if they’ll go anywhere. They’re cute together, but that doesn’t mean they have an HEA. I am a shameless panster who gives the characters free will. In truth, I have no clue what I’m doing or where a book is going until I start typing. That said, I have plans for Kit. Just don’t know if they’ll include Jo. I guess we all have to keep reading to find out. And yeah, that includes me. As always, thank you so much and have a lovely week, y’all. Hydrate, rest, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING.
Low climbed a short flight of stairs, stopped at 7b, and banged on the screen door. Time was ticking, and at 4:15 am, sunrise was due in roughly forty-five minutes. Sliding to his house took thirty-five, no traffic. On a Tuesday, though, that morning commute was on its way. “Fuck.” Low pounded on the steel mesh again and thanked god he answered. “What’s up Low, c’mon on in.” Paul pushed on the screen and allowed Low entry, peeking outside for a hot second. The boy was cagey and kept to himself. Paul was against technology; he owned one cellphone. A flip burner. No email or social media presence. He was three hundred years old with soulful eyes to tell it, but physically remained a lanky seventeen-year-old. “The boys are out tonight,” Low’s plug stated as three bolts clacked into place. “What you want, youngsta?” “Half, and some wax, like usual.” The white boy, er, man, sighed and marched through a compact kitchen. His joint was a tiny linoleum haven with coral walls and tiled counters. “So listen, my supplier ain’t supplied, Low.” “Is you for real?” “Said they had a hiccup.” Paul opened the cabinet under the sink and yanked free Cali Kush, not even a half. “This all I got. I can’t hit you with half right now. I got tourists I need to hustle, you feel me. I’ll give you an eighth, though. And throw in some edibles my old lady made.” Low smacked his lips, but accepted the offer. “Aight, shit. I don’t got no choice.” Digging for cash, he knew there were others to call. A brotha needed that half. A muh’fucka smoked too much for a punk ass eighth. At least there were some cookies for Max. Shorty didn’t smoke, but she liked edibles on occasion. With the sale finalized, they clapped palms and Low said, “I’mma hit you, stay up, blood.” “Right, right.” Low hit the exit and rushed downstairs. He slid behind the wheel and swapped goods for the forty-five, tucking it back under the seat. “Ooooo cookies.” “That shit potent, knowing Ulinda, so don’t go crazy.” She laughed and shoved chips in her mouth. “Can we go now? I wanna relax.” “We on the way.” A thirty-minute journey was whittled down to twenty. He was ready to get in the house, smoke, and make Max holler. Plus, the pinkish horizon concerned him. They were in the home stretch and zoomin’ down SW66th when Max tapped his shoulder. “Low, ain’t that Teddie?” “Where?!” He slowed and peered through her window. Low didn’t have much of a view from where he lived. Directly across the street from his house was a soccer field. It belonged to the Korean church and was private property. But sure enough, Teddie was on the lawn doing flips. Low punched the horn and swerved into his driveway. “I’ma kill him.” “Be nice.” “Hell nah.” Without turning the car off, he slipped out and ran across the narrow avenue. “Have you lost your mind?! Get your hard-headed ass—it’s three in the morning and you flipping and shit. The neighbors finna call CPS!” Teddie grimaced and jogged to the fence. “You told me to practice. That’s what I’m doi—“ “Booyyy, you lef—” Low fumed, pointing at the house. “You left Ashton alone?” “No…” Teddie nibbled on his bottom lip and looked at the tree Ashton stood behind, peeking. “Get the hell over here!” The boy smiled, mouth full of high-priced braces. They cost more than Low’s golds. “What’s wrong with you? Bring your behind on. Both y’all in it.” Teddie snickered. “How do we get out?” Low clapped his hands. “Don’t play with me. Theodore!” They thought this shit was funny, and he didn’t find a ‘nere thing humorous. After they cleared the short chain link, Low shoved them across the street. “Get in bed, now! And wash up too!” Knucklehead one and two rushed for the door, grinning like they weren’t in trouble. Teddie stopped and waved. “Hi, Max.” “Hay, love,” she said, daring to be nice. “You stuck that last one, boy.” “I did, huh?” “Go’on,” Low shouted. It got them moving, and the moment they disappeared, he killed the engine. “You get everything?” “Yeah. And you don’t have to yell.” “Girl, I’ve been raising those boys for eight years, I’ma yell at they ass. And that little one, he gon’ give me a stroke.” Max shook with mirth as he slammed the door and remotely closed the gate. They paced for the house, and she tried to show him the bright side. “They’re growing young boys who will turn into men. Y’all will be inseparable.” “Shit, we already are.” Low scrubbed Vapormaxx soles on the welcome mat and stepped over the threshold with his lady in tow. Keeping it a hunnit, Max wasn’t his. Matter fact, he didn’t have a lady. No relationship to speak of. Just how he liked it. What they had, was a situationship. Mutual as fuck. Both parties carried baggage and neither wanted to unpack that shit. For various reasons. “God, I love the way your house smells. It never gets old.” Max recited the same line every. Single. Time. Low figured it was a compliment, and he could never receive too many of those. When it came to his home, yeah, he deserved some recognition. For time and money spent. Vaulted ceilings dressed in polished cherry planks and beams. Mid-century modern decor and foliage were his vibe of choice. From the door, house plants greeted them, and as they trudged along the terracotta floor, he jotted mental notes. Pruning and watering were in order. Low watched Max bank left and dash through a pair of doors leading to the master suite. He loved the privacy and sheer size of his room. She hurried onward, hit a final louie, tossed goodies on his bed and ran for the bathroom. “I gotta peee.” Low dropped his keys, phone, and lighters on the highboy dresser. His place smelled so good ‘cause he kept incense smoking. And not them cheap ass Wallyworld sticks, nah, his came from an online independent Afro shop. Black Butter, Pattie Labelle, and Somili Rose stayed in rotation. The latter was his go-to at the moment. After Low sparked a roach, he slipped off his shoes. “Whew, my bladder was full. Oooo that’s the Somali Rose.” Max cleared the bed and dove into her purse. He knew she was about to spout some spiritual mess. In an effort to stop it, he stood on a grunt and aimed for the stereo system beside his dresser. The master wasn’t small, by any means. But he packed it tight with more plants, a cal king, and a heavy oak number. A four-bedroom with dual vanities, a sauna, and a sit-in shower would cost close to five million nowadays. Low was big-headed, even though he hadn’t paid for it. He was also proud of an enormous vinyl collection. Years’ worth of long-forgotten music followed him through the decades and filled four shelves. As Low lifted the lid on an HMV stereogram—purchased in 1972—sage wafted. “Annnnnd here she go.” “Your energy is off, love. We gotta cleanse all this mess. I told you to get you some lavender and sage incense.” She swirled that shit all in his face. “I don’t believe in any of your new-age garbage, and you know this.” “Don’t talk like that. See, and you wonder why all those bad spirits won’t get off you.” The scent was okay, but not better than his incense. “A daily smudge would do you good.” “Break that down for me, baby.” “Yup.” He pulled free a winner and chuckled. Vinyl records almost died when compact discs emerged. Luckily, the former prevailed and made a hard comeback. Everybody and they mama released an album on vinyl. Which was good, ‘cause he liked the analog sound better. Low was a hip-hop head, and even Kendrick had ‘em. Though, sometimes, them oldies came in handy right on time. After carefully pulling the record from its jacket, he placed it on the platter and dropped the needle. Teddywas a classic album, and Mr. Pendergrass set the mood quickly. “Freak nasty!” Max yelled mid-giggle. “Mister penherass dowwwwwn… senior.” Low crawled on the bed, observing Max bust down the weed and backwood. She dumped tobacco into an abalone shell and used her magical hands. The woman could roll. Her shit was tight and dry. How she did it with those sexy nails was beyond him. Max ain’t even partake, then again, she had been rolling his blunts for ten years. Irritated, Low reached and snatched her shades off. A rumbling growl was to be expected. “You know damn well you can’t wear them up in here.” Max scoffed, sealing with a pierced, pink devil. It was his personal hell on earth. “What is this? Cali Kush?” “Yup.” “I can taste it.” Max was an old hippie type with weird habits. Face tattoos and piercings fit her personality. Come to find, she acquired most of it as an act of rebellion. “Can you hurry up?” Low snarled. He got nothing but her usual side-eye. “I will flush this down the toilet.” “I’ll put you out, keep fucking with me.” She laughed, pressing his nerves. “Here, damn! Rushing me.” Max frowned and threw the blunt at him. “I’ll be in the shower.” Her little ass scooted off the mattress as Low lit the tip. The first drag did his soul right. Holding smoke, he slid on down to his back and attempted to unwind. Ten minutes and four hits later, he yearned for sweeter offerings. Low snuffed his blunt in the ashtray and popped up. On his way towards heaven, he lost the durag and clothes. Her favorite soap and scent, which heavily resembled gardenia, ignited a violent brand of lust. Airy and floral, it drove him to madness many a night. He needed it on his skin and in his lungs, helping the kush along. With desire coiling in his gut, Low wrenched open the shower door. “I’m tryin’ to wash up, now. Move!” “Don’t be yelling at me,” Low snapped. “You in my house.” “Ugh, your wound is still bruised.” Headscarf on and body soaking wet, she was divinity in motion. The vision moved him forward until she slapped his shoulder. “Ow! What you do that for?” Max scrunched her nose. “Did it hurt?” “No.” “Okay.” She slapped it again and laughed. Low was over her shit. As water streamed and steam billowed, he fell upon her. Supple and buoyant, her lips woke his shit right up. He shivered, and she jumped, locking legs around him. Home was right here. Body to body, their tongues worked in sensual duality as Low gripped her ass. Hands full, his dick jutted in anticipation, but their kisses never lasted long enough. Separation caused a pinprick of pain. He dropped onto the tiled bench and kneaded her behind. “You finna sit on this dick?” “Yeahhhh.” Max moaned and whined. “You gonna be nice?” “Mhmmm.” She nodded and grabbed his face. Her kiss traveled, leaving fire in its wake. Cheek, jaw, and neck. “I wanna taste, too. Can I have it, baby?” she whispered against the sensitive spot, just under his jawline. Low grunted in agreement, losing wits and sense. Two hundred and sumn’ years was a long while to live and more than enough time to lie with any and everybody. Low wasn’t an amateur; he knew how this game was played and had been at it for generations. He’d had countless companions, but not one had claimed his vein. Until he’d met Maxine. Low never turned her down, never said no, but it wasn’t a thing. In truth, vampires biting each other wasn’t normal unless mated. Low didn’t care ‘bout none of that, ‘cause the shit was addicting. Fangs deep in his throat as her pussy hugged him close set a muh’fucka on the straight and narrow! “Let me have it,” Max demanded, straddling him. She gripped his stiff shaft and positioned his blunt head right where he needed to be. Low’s eyes slammed shut the moment her heat licked the tip. Max’s pink, silken walls teased, flexed, and soaked him good. Lowering and sliding, she mewled. Low’s fingers sank into her soft, plush hips. “Shi—” “Fuuuucck,” Max cried. Tight and soul snatching, her pussy arrested him. His female sat on it from head to base and undulated. His eyes sprang open, and he damn near came from the view. Shorty woulda been madddd pissed if he nutted, but she was a masterpiece. Head thrown back and sharp fangs running a hard line. Her buttery skin adorned with art, shimmered under a dim blue glow. “On me, baby, keep them eyes on me,” Low pleaded. She complied instantly. Unnatural, yet alluring, her gaze matched his. Perfectly arched brows, thick lips, and high cheekbones came in second to her stunning stare. There was something dark behind the innocence. Max hated them, but he’d never see her point. Mismatched and dazzling, they drove him to want without ceasing. One red and the other quicksilver. “Damn,” he barked as she started moving like a starving succubus. “Come on now!” Low smacked that ass, and Max yelped while her pussy bit back. It encased him and forced a motha fucka to beg. She wound and bound him. On fire for it, heaving and cussing, he held firm. “You so pretty, Maxi. Look at you…all on this dick.” Low latched onto her luscious form and gritted his teeth, watching her body bounce nearly took him out. “Damn, you wet as fuck, shorty.” “Oooo, shit, Low!” Her head lulled forward, and motion grew vicious. Ass meeting pelvis and clapping, she put their natural-born speed to good use. At her mercy, Low might as well be a toy. Perfect pussy, soft curves, large brown nipples, and a hammering pulse set him off. He was about to nut. “Ooooooo I’m ‘bouta squ—” Cutthroat and ruthless, skin glistening, Max danced on the dick, her scent thickened with the steam. Breathing clipped and belly jiggling as he loved, she whined. “Lowww! Right—oh dammmnn babyyyy!” She hooked her claws into his arms, but he registered nothing as her mouth locked onto his jugular. Fangs penetrated, knocking bones loose. She touched the depths of his cold, aching soul and set him free. Low erupted. From crown to sole, he quaked and drenched her beloved walls. Truth be told, Max ran the show when they fucked. Whatever she say go. And as his toes curled, ass clenched, and eyes rolled yet again, she ruptured. Squirting on his lap, Max drank her fill and screamed. Nut number two battered his senses. Low gasped for air and looped arms around her. This here wasn’t planned, and they had no business sharing sheets. Her daddy would never approve, but god forbid Low let their situation go. Not for a second, an hour, or a day. This was worth the risk. Max was worth it. Maybe it was fucked up, but Low had long ago become reliant on these secret, stolen moments and refused to live without them.
Heeello. I hope y’all have had a good week and aren’t too stressed out, but I know how it is. Sometimes it can be hard to enjoy the little things like reading, writing, hiking, meditating, or gaming with everything the way it is, but we try, don’t we? Y’all have taken those tiny moments and used them to read my stories. For that, I thank you. It means a lot. Y’all are the reason why I keep at it, cause you’re still here! So, with that, let’s move on to the goods. SMUT. And yeah, this was a little taste of what Low and Max have. They are creeping, sneaking, and freaking, you hear me! Max got the heart of a lion, cause babbbyyyy, what? I ain’t set up like that. Ten years? A whole decade and some change? Hell to the nah nah nahhhh. They cute, though, and I adore them. They’re staying true to the game, and I can’t blame them. Oh, one last tiny tidbit, the word female is used loosely in my vampire universe because they aren’t human. And some, not all, prefer male-female terms instead of woman-man. Anyhoooo, that’s it for now and please, as always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, let me know! Have a great day, y’all. Stay well, stay hydrated, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING!
“Break, break, me open with your all-seeing eye. Crunch, crunch. My bones. Bite me down to the, the, the core.” AB hissed and clapped his hands. “That’s heat. It’s my best yet.” He never considered himself a Huges type, but shit, he was close—something like him for sure. Langston would probably have nothing negative to say. Feedback from the poets’ group chat was all positive. “Now for a title.” He ruminated for a second. “Fiery cry.” AB saved the document as Brittany interrupted, her voice singing through the intercom. “Mr. Aubrey, a gentleman would like to speak with you, but he doesn’t have an appointment.” AB swiped his tablet, tapped on the calendar, and scrolled. He had forty minutes to spare before the next appointment. “Alright, I’ve got time. Bring him in.” “Yes, sir.” “Mmmhhm.” He loved that, sir shit, it never got old. Especially when she uttered the words. Brit was a vivacious sixty-year-old halfbreed with a pert ass and soft lips. “Buuuuut that’s totally unprofessional, bro.” AB cleared his desk of candy wrappers and Coke cans. He pushed everything over the side and into a tiny trash bin near his desk. With practiced ease, he opened the drawer, retrieved a mirror, and checked for imperfections. “Not a speck.” A small knock alerted him to their arrival. He stashed the looking glass, jumped to it, and buttoned his Dior vest. Britney appeared first and held the door. A male of decent stature sauntered in, confident and friendly. Shoes, Chanel. Rolex. A gold signet ring of some sort. Fresh line and a tailored goatee. AB smelled greenbacks as they shook hands. “Hello, I’m Jaxon Aubrey.” “Tracy Bisset,” the male said, releasing his strong grip. “I apologize, it’s uncommon for me to show up without an appointment, but I am in quite a bind.” “Oh no, I take walk-ins. Have a seat, and we can talk. Britney, get our friend here some refreshments.” “Yes, sir.” She smiled and walked her fine ass out as AB marched behind his long desk, cut from the finest of pine. “You have a magnificent office.” Mr. Bisset spared a moment to examine the expansive space before taking a load off across from him. “Quite welcoming.” “Thank you.” He appreciated small talk, but time was money. “I take decor very seriously, seeing as I spend most of my time here. Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Bissette?” Tracy crossed his legs and frowned. “I would like to retain your services.” Those words gave AB a back rub with baby oil; however, Tracy here needed to be informed. AB wasn’t trying to swindle a paying customer. Yet. “Is this a referral?” “Yes.” “Great, can you tell me who, so I can give them a discount?” “Oh yes, uhm Stan—” “Connors, Stan Connors, ohhhh yeah.” Jaxon nodded and wondered where Britney was with the perishables. “He’s a regular client. Are you two friends? Not to assu-” “Acquaintance. I run a construction firm, and he’s also one of my clients.” Hallelujah. “I asked several colleagues for advice, and you were named three times. I was given human recommendations as well, but I…” Tracy cleared his throat and corrected an immaculate silk knot at his throat. “I’d rather not fraternize with the horde.” “Ah, understandable. Okay, well, I can and will help you after you look over my portfolio.” “I’ve done that already.” “Excellent.” Leaning forward, Jaxon linked fingers atop his blotter and smiled. “First, I will need a compiled checklist of what it is you require of me and a three-thousand-dollar retainer. After which, my rate is 110 dollars per hour.” “Done.” What a gorgeous mix of letters. He might just come in his slacks. “Beauuuutiful.” AB reached and snapped a matte black premium embossed business card. “Take this, and call me when you have what I need. My fax and email are listed as well. Send it however you like.” Jaxon rose, offering his palm once more. “I can’t wait to do business.” “I’ll call you in a day or two.” “Terrific.” Wearing a warm smile, he escorted Mr. Bisset out of his office, watched him leave, and looked down at his doe-eyed secretary. “What happened to the water and cookies?” She gasped. “Oh my god, I forgot. I was sorting brochures.” “Wow. You know…” Towering, he stared at the woman, AB inhaled her precious perfume in a greedy gulp. She smelled like cherries and a simple syrup, batting her long, thick lashes. Peering into her big eyes, he remembered Brit was an employee. Saying what he wanted was grounds for a lawsuit. So AB stuffed hands in his pockets and sighed. “It’d be great if next time, you could remember.” “I will, I swear.” The cutie bit her bottom lip. On that note, AB went about his business. “When our twelve o’clock shows, send them right in. I wanna breeze through tonight.” “Got it.” Rushing into his ‘welcoming’ office, AB grunted at the thought of what was to come. He didn’t want to work tonight, oddly enough. At least, not as an accountant. But work was work. Thanks to an impending dreary summer, he only had five hours on the clock. Though short and sweet became long and grueling, fast. Especially with perusers and clients who had other, more pertinent issues. AB worked out of his office mostly, but traveled often. Minutes ticked by, and the twelve left, then two arrived. She was a sassy silver-haired familiar who wanted a free ride; he might oblige after checking her books. By the time AB stashed his laptop and tablet in a 1976 Bottega, it was 3 am, and he was done. Numbers were so much fun, but a bastard needed unwinding. Willing lights off, he and the bag marched out with the key Fob in hand. Britney vanished ten minutes before and always had. He thought, would it still be unprofessional even if they were off the clock? AB laughed like a creep and strolled across glossy hardwood. His unit was seven thousand square feet. He had an entire floor in the heart of the Brickell financial district with panoramic views. Stuck-up rich people loved it here. His slice of the pie sported minimalistic vibes with bright woods and gray suede. Muted tones, a comfy break room, and even a balcony for smoking. There was a second executive office that served no real purpose other than to store boxes and records. AB had no intention of ever taking on a partner. He liked to work alone and stick to himself. After turning everything else off, he engaged the alarm, stepped out, and secured the locks. Without keys. He strutted down the long, echoing hall and hopped in the waiting elevator. Stabbing the B-level button, he made a point not to look at—there were forty-three— AB closed his eyes and poked at random. “Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshit… I am sooooo sorry, Jerry.” Cracking a lid, AB took a deep breath and felt better since it was over. All those precious buttons glowed bright, setting the world right. He glanced at the camera and whistled along to a dumb ass elevator tune that never changed. The box stopped six times before reaching the garage. AB made haste, ran from the lift, and stopped at a modest Hyundai. It was a good car and had tons of legroom. No matter how long he spent in Florida the humidity always strangled him. Before getting in, AB quickly removed his tie and vest. 2.5 seconds and his knees would start sweating. “Yuck.” There was something in the air; it smelled different here. Moist, stuffy, and ripe with vegetation. Everywhere he went, swamp water, brine, nocturnal vagabonds. And the fucking Iguanas, Jesus Christ. “Move to Miami, it’ll be fun. Girls and beaches. Ass and Margaritas. Bitch!” Once seated in the full-size sedan, he threw on a goody. Keep It On the Real. Decades, plural, could pass, and Stackin Chips would still be fire. Backing out, he opened the middle compartment, plucked a waiting preroll and a lighter. With one hand on the wheel, he put lips to the blunt and sparked. AB threw the Zippo, smashed the gas, and made a hard right. Damn one-way streets. After turning onto SW 9th, he found himself jumping onto the I-95. Now, why was he heading straight for Miami Beach? Curiosity, maybe. With lungs loaded with Purple Haze, he held that shit and found a parking space in front of the shop ten minutes later. It being Monday and close to four am, not a soul lurked on the sidewalk. As AB exhaled thick cream, he stared at the shop’s comings and goings. In truth, he was mildly curious about that mouthy little woman with the weird hair. Apparently, he was interested and laughed at her corny ass joke. So, at the very least, he wanted to suck a tiddie. Whenever AB spotted a potential smash and pass, he went for it. After a final hit, he pinched the glowing cherry and stashed it behind his ear. AB then snatched his shirt tails free, unbuttoned, and let the tank work some heavy overtime. Emerging from the vehicle, he noted a blonde out front who stiffened at the very sight of him. “Sup?” She smiled. “Hi.” The tattoo shop was packed with vampires. Miss Mini Skirt looked like an employee. Music was loud as he entered goth heaven. Black on black. Everything, save for the counter space and a white POS. “Oh wow, you’re back, uhm…” The tall brunette with a short cut squinted. “Jaxon.” “Nice memory.” She smirked and nodded. “Come for one yourself this time?” “Nah, nah. I was wondering if the other…” Lifting a hand to his torso, she snickered. “Short one, is around.” “Yeah, actually. She’s in the back, getting her stuff.” Pixie Cut turned, then looked back at him. “We’re about to close up.” “I feel you. Uhm, I’ll wait here.” The female on his radar returned from wherever she had been, and have mercy, hips and thighs were on deck. God damn! He didn’t know what she was looking for in that bag, but hopefully it was her number. “Ndari, baby, have you seen my phone?” “In the POS.” “Shit, right.” She halted and glanced at her buddy. He couldn’t tell for sure, behind the frames. She had a Corey Hart, Sunglasses At Night, fetish. “Look who it is, Ginger Snaps. I’d love to offer a session, but we are done for the night.” She marched forward and he observed the slight limp. Rummaging through the register, she snorted. “You know wh—giiiiirrl, I don’t remember putting it in there.” Scatterbrained? Unattractive. Slamming it shut, she said, “So anyway, feel free to make an appointment Lucky—” “I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. My Mama doesn’t even call me Lucky Charms.” Eyes darted as the blonde swayed behind the counter and the tall one shook her head. But Shorty, recoiled. “You, are a customer in my establishment, and I can refuse service at any time, Irish Cream. I will tase yo big ass. I got one in my purse, run up.” Unclear on how to respond, AB laughed, cause the Napoleon complex was strong as fuck with this one. “Damn, I didn’t come to get tased shit, all I wanted was your number.” She made an odd croaking sound, looked at her employee, then dove into her purse again. “Why you want my number?” “So I can text you. Or FaceTime.” “Fuck FaceTime, I hate Apple…” she paused with the digging and looked up again. “You wanna call me?” “If that’s okay, I guess. Or not.” “I, uhhhh…” She sought her girls again, shrugged, and giggled. Ah, insecure as well. Strike two. She was racking them up quick, but Miss Ma’am didn’t have a thigh gap, and that was his weakness. Smash and dash. Lick and flip, etc. “You know what, I—” Being rude as hell, a male with no sense of personal space leaned on the counter and smiled at Shorty. “Wus up, baby? You ready?” “Yeah, yeah. Uhm…” “Ohhh, you have a boyfriend.” AB sniffed and threw up his hands. “My fault, you coulda just said that.” “He’s not my boyfriend.” “I ain’t,” the male blurted, eyes tracing AB’s frame. “You wanna holla, feel free. Let me mind my business, over here.” He slid to the sitting area, and Jaxon looked back at… “Like I was saying, name and number.” “I think I’ll pass. Oh shit, my Monster.” She scoffed. “I’ll be right back.” As the female ran away after rejecting him like a trick, AB admired the wagon. God! “Damn, bruh, she curved the hell outta you.” “You’re all up in my space.” It seemed the male had crept in beside him once again. “You don’t own me or the shop.” He chuckled. “The fuck.” “If y’all aren’t together, what’s the problem?” The rude gent smiled and checked him for the second time. AB snarled. “You got one more time, halfbreed.” “Aye, bruh, relax. I was just looking, and she ain’t gon’ let you hit…” Licking his lips, the male met AB in the eyes. “But, if it’s back shots you want, I can ease that pain, you feel me.” Jaxon side-stepped and recoiled. “Excuse me?” “Damn, thought I got one. You old as shit from the smell of it. I assumed you was good with it.” “It’s your lack of tact that has me floored, not you hitting on me.” “I didn’t hit on you, Red. I asked if you wanted to fuck. Different shit.” “Okay, I’m ready.” The woman AB came to see, briefly considered him, then the other vampire, who cackled and pushed off the glass. “Let’s go, baby, we gotta buss some corners before sunrise.” As she came around, AB stared her down. Blushing and grinning were good signs. “So you’re gonna give me nothing?” he asked, as her friend exited. “No. N.O., damn. I know you heard me the first time. Bye, girls, be sure to lock up. You have ten minutes, Jack, or whatever your name is. Shit or get off the pot.” Her ass and attitude left. With it, Jaxon’s patience. Humiliation and rejection were uncomfortable. It happened, but maybe three times in his whole life. Yeeeeah, she was gonna regret this, but for now, he’d find a bitch who’d crawl through broken glass to suck his dick.
As Max ran for the ‘88 Monte Carlo she couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t the heavy summer humidity. No, it was the thing that followed them outside. “Get in, get innnn.” The asshole cackled and nodded at the trailing redhead. “You like the view, boy?” “I am ‘bouta kill you.” Max squealed and dropped into the passenger seat. Slamming the door, she ducked. “Get in the fucking car!” “Don’t rush me!” he yelled while sliding behind the wheel. “Is he still there?” “Hell yeah. He got them eyes, baby.” “I knoooowww.” “But he high as fuck too.” “Shut up and let’s go. Pleaaaase,” Max begged. The bastard laughed again, and being high himself, he thought everything was funny. But thank god the engine turned over. Jacking upright, Max did the job of hitting switches. The bounce on its rise was always her favorite part. “Why do you gotta play this song every night?!” She groaned as What These Bitches Want came on loud as hell, thanks to them fifteens in the trunk. “’Cause I like it. You can walk, fuckin’ with me.” “I wish you would,” Max said with hard eye roll. “I’ma make you act right, keep on.” After busting an illegal ass u-turn on Arthur Godfrey, they ran a red light. This man often threw caution to the wind and stayed twenty above the speed limit. That’s why he had a glove box full of speeding tickets. Max giggled and reclined, as if there was a choice in his ‘cruising car’, the bench seat was stuck in recline. This particular vehicle only got action on his nights off, or after work…maybe. Candy apple red, loud, and sitting on old school Dayton’s. His Donk was ghetto excellence with coke white interior. She’d love to see it sparkle during the day, buuuut burning to death was a waste of time. Max minded her business and scrolled various social media sites until a thunder clap came down on her thigh. “Owwwww!” she whined, glaring at the driver. “That hurt, Low!” “Shut up.” Focused on the road and biting his bottom lip, he massaged and groped. Kneading and squeezing. “You never texted me back last night. What happened?” “I fell asleep.” “Lying ass.” His big hand slithered in between, and she shivered. Low’s touch worked like magic. Tingly and warm, Max slumped. She spread her thighs, allowing better access. This didn’t make a lick of sense. She was too old to be sneaking around with some boy! Low was a grown-ass man, but still. “I’m serious,” she said under duress. “I forgot and fell asleep.” “You always forgetting something. What you say to that man?” “Who?” Max hissed through her teeth as he clutched her purring kitty. “Red.” “Oh, nothing. I said nothing. In fact, I was pretty mean to him.” Low smiled, and good god, gold fronts suited him just fine. Shame he only wore them when ‘off-duty’. She liked those slugs. And you know, Low gave Travonte a run for his money. He was that handsome. Using his face as a chair was unavoidable; Max moisturized his exceptionally tailored beard whenever possible. Low was a big-bodied, single male vampire, and Max was unmarried, unbound. Free to mingle. They were never exclusive but had shared a bed for ten years. “You mean to everybody, Maxi.” “Not true.” “It is. And why you not gon’ let him smash?” Glancing at her chauffeur, she said, “Are you kidding? He’s a Pureblood.” “He is. Old too.” “Can’t wait ‘til I can pick up on that stuff.” “Give it fifty more years.” Max was about to unbutton her jeans when the car stopped at the nearest gas station. “Can you get me some hot fries?” “No,” Low bit back. She hissed at him and said, “Please, I’m craving them.” He slid on out and snickered. “I been craving some pussy, you don’t see me begging.” She shimmied on down and blushed. “Ooooh my god, say it louder, why don’t you? And Bet!” She giggled at his filthy mouth. He had no filter, unless at work. Low never cared about what came spouting from his mouth. To a certain extent, neither did Max. They understood each other in that way. Their pairing was highly flammable, but he was her best friend. Wasn’t nobody listening to rap for the duration. She poked the screen and connected her phone. Deciding quickly, Max smiled. “Ayyye, that’s more like it.” The Isley Brothers were her go-to. That Lady was a certified jam. Or was it banger? Slang was getting harder to keep up with. “Man, come on, baby, damn. You lucky I like this song.” Low returned, tossing a bag of hot fries and a bottle of E&J into her lap. “C’mon na’! Thank youuuu.” She kissed the glass and hugged it tight. “You drink like somebody grandma. A damn shame.” “Shut your mouth, you still drink Alize.” Low barked in laughter, started the Chevy, and whipped that hoe out of the parking lot. “You right. Why mess with a good thing?” “See, that’s exactly why I keep to my brandy.” Heading up 41st, she knew they were going to his weedman’s house. He had several in Florida and two in Miami Beach. Low picked her up a lot, so it was best to have one close by the shop. Especially when sunrise was due in an hour and racing them home. Max checked on her tattoo shop as they drove past and was happy to see the place empty. Her small, yet lucrative business was flanked by a kosher market and a Chase bank. It wasn’t South Beach, but being only four blocks away from the tourist trap meant she was in a prime opportunity zone. There were barbershops, eateries, and retail stores on every corner. Traffic flow was substantial, even when she operated after hours. At 3 a.m., however, pedestrians dwindled. Besides the unhoused, she was on a first-name basis with the streets, which were quiet at the moment. When they hit a left on Collins Avenue, Low slowed his ass down because the boys were surely lurking. This place was a dream for spring breakers and yacht enthusiasts. Fun in the sun, beaches, and cocktails. Cuban cuisine, Bossa Nova nights, and salsa dancing. Little Havana and coked-out weekends. “I fuckin’ hate palm trees, bruh.” Max deflated and groaned. “I love the ocean, but I hate humidity, sand in my ass, and entitled outta-towners.” “I know, Maxi.” Low sighed, offering comfort by rubbing her thigh. “I know.” She cringed. “This street makes me feel claustrophobic.” Condominiums and hotels rode the edge of either side like impenetrable prison walls. “I wanna move to like, Montana. See snow-covered pine trees. Live by a lake or something. Ninety-eight years I’ve been here. Goddd! Am I gonna have yet another existential crisis?” Low hummed, keeping eyes on Collins. “You’ll have at least ten before reaching a hundred.” “Great. Love that for me.” The moment Collins Ave turned into Dickens, she took a deep, relieved breath. From towering structures to squat buildings. Tom and Jane from Nebraska would go no further. Tourists didn’t like reality. They wanted ocean views and expensive seafood. Where Max and Low were headed reminded everyone that this was a concrete jungle. Granted, Montana had similar streets loaded with corner stores, pawn and smoke shops. The homeless, however, were sometimes better off on this side. “You remember when Florida was fun?” Max asked. “Hell yeah, before the money came through.” “Right. They turned our home into a shopping mall. And made it harder for everyone. I’ve been saving for five years. It’s bullshit.” “I already told you, Max, you can stay with me.” She arched a brow and said, “Yeah, right. So you can irk my nerves all damn day. Boy, please.” He giggled as the car stopped in front of Paul’s apartment complex. “I’ma be right back, huh.” Low reached under the seat and revealed his favorite Glock. He handed it off and Max cradled the cold weight. “You know what to do wit’ it.” “Bust some caps.” His expression flattened. “Don’t nobody say that no more.” “Well what they say then?” “Air it out? Nah, it’s spray it up.” They shared a bout of heavy laughter as he opened the door. “Whatever them kids be saying. I don’t know, hell.” She watched him hop the gate and jog that heavy, bubble on upstairs. Damn, he had a fat ass. Max was forever telling this man to pull up his britches. Why did everybody have to know the color of his boxers? It wasn’t cute, but she sho’ ‘nough stared at that moving picture every damn time.
Hello, you wonderful people. I hope y’all had a good week and have an even better weekend. I’ve been tweaking, revising, drafting, and promoting a book, so my plate is full as hell. I’m talking ham, yams, turkey, dressing, and greens. I’m gonna need another plate for the macaroni and cheese, chile! My gods. Anyway, we are moving forward in Neon Red, and let me just say, you’ll see a lot of focus on music. It carries me through each book and plays a huge part in Low’s life. If you don’t like name drops, I am sorry. One last thing, don’t forget, this is dark romance. And baby, it’s going to get darker. AB is morally gray, not black, but gray. He’s an ancient Pureblood with a past. Anyway, thank you for reading yet another chapter and as always, I wish you a lovely day! If you have any questions, please DM. Don’t be scared, I swear I don’t bite…all the time.
Unbelievable. How had she folded so quickly? Jasper was celibate and didn’t want to fuck anyone. Hand jobs don’t count! They didn’t count in her world, so this was fine. She was okay with what had transpired, but her heart said otherwise. Her anxiety, fear, and hesitations called her bluff. Jasper was a liar and a coward. Popping upward, Jasper peered into Nieema’s lustrous carmine eyes and shook her head. “I have to go.” And she left, in a puff of gold smoke. This was the quickest mode of transportation for a demon, though not her favorite. With a flick of the mind, Jasper could go anywhere she’d already been in seconds. Buuuut, she didn’t travel that way often because her stomach hated the motion and magic. Despite being born with the ability, her body wasn’t built for it. Moments after transporting, Jasper was irrefutably fucked. The short journey was unkind, rough, and always sent her straight to the god damn lavatory. Her guts were too sensitive for the trip, and with everything else, she was in shambles. Jasper popped up in her cabin, on the pot, and stayed there for a torturous thirty-five minutes. Every so often, Kit’s terrifying demon cat shoved its furry paw under the door. Their claws were menacing and creeped her out. After what seemed like an eternity, Jasper flushed, washed hands, and even showered. She needed to recalibrate and refocus to get sex off her mind. Lust and sexual gratification gave Succubi purpose and essentially made them happier. Jasper loathed the peace and joy riding her bones. She was elated, energized, and ready to dance under a harvest moon for hours. Why were they meant for pleasure? Her only real sustenance was an orgasmic release, sexual energy, and a thick masculine soul. Without sampling at least one of those things, she’d die. Could she ever truly be celibate? No. And she’d never really, actually been that. According to the Internet, she was abstinent. Buuuut, she fucking tried. Nieema’s fingers had been the only thing inside Jasper after months of nothing. And gods, did it feel amazing. She wanted more, but it’d be a mistake on her part to carry on down that road. They were a royal couple, and Jasper couldn’t go there. No matter how desirable the Sunsides were. Being a celibate Succubus was hard as fuck at the moment, but it was better than getting married off and showcased like a doll. She cursed her mother’s strong genes and traits every fucking day. Carrion spread his seed about without shame. He sampled every pussy and hole Undervell offered. Succubi were his favorite, however. They were everyone’s favorite. Jasper could’ve been half Leer demon like her sister; they were common brimstone types with normal sexual appetites. They weren’t highly sought-after commodities. Comely but not stunning. Because Succubi conceived when they wanted and how, their population was small. The last time Jasper checked, there were eighty-four living Succubi left in Undervell. The High Mother protected most of them because of their numbers and how gross demonic males were around them. “Uggggh!” Jasper roared as her body hummed with desire. She’d be frustrated for a few days and needed to keep busy. After moisturizing with citrus-scented body oil, she donned a pair of boxers and a tank top. Jasper wasn’t in the mood for night gowns or robes. “I need games and food.” She trekked into the kitchen and grabbed whatever. Sparkling water, muffins, and hot chips. It’d be good enough for now. On the turnaround, she jumped and growled at the ugly cat. “Shoo!” It hissed, tail flicking with their ass on the counter. “Get off! That’s disgusting.” Jasper went to shove the beast, and it scratched her. “Ow! You shit! Move or so help me—thank god,” she exclaimed as Kit waltzed through the door. “Please get your asshole cat off the kitchen counter.“ “Yoooooou wretched thing!” Kit slammed his satchel and notebook on the island and chased the cat away. “I have told you, Julep! No felines in the kitchen. Gods. He is by far the most stubborn soul I have ever encountered. How are you, sister mine? How was your night?” “Well, not great to be honest.” “Pardon? What’s the matter?” Kit opened the fridge and snapped his head around. “Did someone slight you? Touch you without consent?” Eyes sharp and sparking with fury, he was a sight. Her heart warmed and swelled as her big brother threatened harm to anyone who had hurt her. It kind of made Jasper rethink her silence on the Trevor matter. Maybe he deserved to suffer and shit, if anyone could do the job, it was Kit. “No, no nothing like that.” Jasper sighed, dropped her goodies on the counter, and snatched up a muffin. She tore open the plastic and bit into it. She didn’t know what to say without divulging too much information. So, she went with the obvious. “I went to look at my house for some construction stuff and got attacked by tiny rock-eating fairies. They messed me up pretty bad, thank Undergods we heal fast. I mean, they were tiny but quick. Also, like half of my roof caved in. The whole house is shit, and it’s ruining my mood.” Kit tsked and rummaged in the fridge. “Gods, you’ve had a bad go of it. I think your house is cursed.” “Me too.” “Who sold it to you anyway?” Kit asked, slipping into his apron. “What piece of shit had the audacity? It is abundantly clear that the home was inhabitable. Whomsoever sold it to you knew this. What was their name?” “Hawke, uhhhh Nathan Hawke. He was the real estate agent.” “Hmmmm.” Kit got that look. The flaying look. The expression he took on moments before someone saw their end. “I’ll talk to Joe about this matter tomorrow.” “Joe?” “Yes, he’s Nieema and Buck’s great-grandson.” While Kit busied himself in the kitchen, opening his giant cookbook and gathering ingredients, Jasper jumped up onto the island. She polished off the muffin and grabbed another. “The young man is chatty and knowledgeable. He’s snappy but a complete goof. Not someone I’d fraternize with in Undervell, but pleasant company. And, he’s also the Sheriff.” Jasper recalled Buck saying something about this. “Sheriff, huh?” “Mhm.” Kit nodded as he cracked open large brown eggs over a big bowl. “Yes. He’s allowing me to accompany him on a ride-along tomorrow.” “What the hell is a ride a long?” “It’s when a civilian rides with the Sheriff in their motorized vehicle for the day. And possibly, we’ll dispatch a bit of law and order. The Platter boys have been running amok, don’t you know. Thieves are about, sister. Stay vigilant and watch your gourd.” Jasper cackled, feet swinging. The thought of somebody stealing squash in this town was funny but Kit didn’t think so. His scowl shut me up. “This is no laughing matter. Mr. Carol has worked hard to grow just enough pumpkins for this year’s festivals. He can’t afford to lose anymore. It’d be a travesty.” Jasper chuckled despite his grumbling. “How do you know more about this place than I do?” “Because you, Jasper, are a solitary creature. You’re not curious about others, and you don’t like people. You’d rather stay locked in your chambers with bits and baubles. You’ve always been this way and don’t think you’ve changed much. Are you less than for preferring your own company? No. I think, it’d be good for you to explore Indigo Plains. Especially if you intend on calling it home.” “I am curious. I like to try new things and go places. I went bowling today, thank you very much.” “Good for you! Say, how about you and I visit Maggie in a few days?” “The witch?” “Indeed. How do you know about her?” “Buck mentioned her.” “She makes fine cakes.” Kit lifted his chin and folded hands atop his belly. “Yeees, that is my reason for scheduling another visit. What a delectable bite. You’ll see. Oh, after that, we can go into town and buy more wares.” “With my money?” “Yes.” Kit spun around, turned on the radio, and fussed with it until finding classical music. That was her cue to leave. Jasper slid off the counter and snatched her loot. “Same goes for you, Jasper. Keep your rump off of my counters!” “What are you making?” “A common quiche.” “I don’t know what the fuck that is, but call me when it’s done.” “Will do.” Kicking her door shut, Jasper mulled over what her brother said. He was right, she was a loner, and so the fuck what? She didn’t want to be bothered, and the best way to make that happen was to be by herself. Jasper ignored the ache at the base of her tail and threw snacks on her bed. She’d had it coiled around her thigh all day. It often had a mind of its own, but she was the boss. Over the years, she’d become self-conscious about it, thanks to who? Trevor Fucking Voaremont. He, didn’t like her tail. Said it was weird and trashy to leave out in public. “Leave me alone,” she muttered, plugging in her laptop. Settling on her bed, Jasper placed her computer on a tray, donned her headset, and booted up Streamer for the first time in weeks. After finding a cheap game to download, she popped open her chips. He hated eating in bed, hated her eating junk food, and hated the way she crunched so loudly. “Go to hell, Trevor Voarmont.”
What an unfortunate circumstance. Robbed, someone tried to rob him. For the first time in ten years, Elliot had to save Tracy’s life. Well, Hollister helped, too, and he appreciated fast thinking. On their toes and ready for battle. Best to have someone around who can defend his honor. Tracy would rather not engage in a fight, unless it was with a pen. Mayhap a game of chess, but he wasn’t too good, truth be told. His father reigned as king in chess and often berated Tracy for losing so viciously. As they puttered along, 826 -and putter was an apt description- Elliot drove like an old man. Granted, he was an old fellow. He stayed in the slow lane and kept it at sixty-five. Their trips always took longer than necessary. Tracy knew Elliot was only being safe, but good god, this was ridiculous. He should have been home by now. They were on the highway, but dealing with Elliot, a fifteen-minute ride turned into twenty-five. Annnnd, it was 3 am, no one was on the road, save for three other cars that sped on by moments before. “Thank you again, Elliot. You are a true marksman.” “I didn’t even get to use my gun,” he said, sounding incredibly dejected. “Maybe next—well, you know what? No.” Tracy shook his head. “I don’t want a next time.” Elliot glanced at him and smirked. “You sure? It’ll give that old heart a jolt.” “No, no. I hope to never go through something like that again.” “Me either, I don’t wanna make getting stabbed a habit.” “So, you said you’ve been hurt worse?” Elliot nodded, keeping eyes on the road and two hands on the wheel like a seventy-year-old human named Henryetta, “Yeah, been stabbed. Set on fire, shot, disemboweled, and lost a leg once. Nearly got my head lopped off… You know, stuff like that.” “Noooo, I don’t know.” Tracy scoffed. He couldn’t imagine any of it. “Dear god. You never disclosed such information before.” “Irrelevant.” “Fair enough.” As silence settled in, Tracy took a gander at Elliot’s wound and gagged. The sight of so much blood was unappealing, even for a vampire. Seeping and oozing, glistening. Was that white meat? He dragged attention away from the hellish display and stared out the window instead. When 56th merged into Millers Street, hunger pangs returned, and with vengeance. They drove by an assortment of eateries, and his stomach howled. The long stretch of asphalt and stop lights became a new brand of torture. Mr. Paella, Bamboo Miller, and McDonald’s—where Tracy would never eat, because he was vegan and not trashy—looked like a grand idea; he was starved. “Are you hungry, Elliot?” “Uh, sorta. I’m really tryna keep from throwing up right now.” “Ohhh, does it hurt?” “It tickles, Tracy.” “Right, dumb question.” Checking on him with obvious reluctance, Tracy noted the sweat on Elliot’s brow. “You know? Jaya can stitch that for you.” “No, no—” “It’s the least I can do. She’s great with a needle and thread.” Good thing he nodded; it was unlikely Elliot would make it home in this state. “We can have it sewn up and get you a pint.” “Yeah, sure.” He agreed just as they made a right onto 60th, where streets were narrow, and homes were shielded behind high brush. Each house, manse, or abode was gated and secure. Tracy loved this neighborhood and its timeless beauty. The homes were older, built in the early 2000s, but were charming, and his was no exception. Elliot pushed a button on the remote on his keyring before reaching the gate. Tracy gave him free access to pretty much everything. After ten years, he trusted Elliot beyond measure. They’d gone so long without one hiccup. Seconds later, thank god, they embarked on the roundabout drive and stopped at the front door. “Finally,” Tracy grumbled. “Something wrong with my driving?” “No, no… I mean, if I required urgent care, I’d be dead, but great job.” Hopping out with his backpack, Tracy heard Elliot chuckle, and he smirked. Being home felt nice, and when he walked in, he smelled a lovely aroma. Wine sauce and plant-based butter. From the foyer, Tracy swerved right, paced through the formal dining, and arrived in the kitchen. “What do we have here?” “I thought I heard the door,” Jaya said, stirring whatever bubbled and boiled on the stove. “Chickpea and potato curry.” “Wonderful, you are talented with a spoon, Jaya.” The woman blushed, and he spun around. “Uhm, Elliot has suffered an inj—” “Oh my god, Elliot.” Jaya dropped the spoon, snagged a dish towel off her shoulder, and wiped her hands. “Come here.” “Hay.” “Hi bud, how are—oooohhhh.” She flinched and examined the wound. “Got a deep one, huh?” “Yeah, and I need to sit down.” “Come, come.” After tugging Elliot along, Jaya placed him at the breakfast bar. “We’re gonna go in the bathroom first, and then, I’m gonna fix you right up.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “You know better than to ma’am me.” She smacked him with the towel, slid behind Tracy, and smiled as he tried to take a bite. “Don’t you even think about it, mister.” “Damn it.” “Yeah.” His shoulders drooped. “I’m gonna put my things in the office and—” “Oh, uhm, Tracy? You had a visitor tonight.” “I did?” His nerves rattled in a way. “Who?” “Yeah, who?” Elliot asked, only with more suspicion. Jaya grabbed a fresh bottle of blood—not his, they were labeled—and offered it to the bodyguard. “An auditor.” “Shiiiit.” Tracy was unsettled. “Human, orrrr…” “Monarchy.” “Oh shitm,” he uttered again and nodded. “Okay. I’m— damn it. I am going to handle this.” “I hope so. Have you been paying your taxes?” Jaya asked. “Yeees.” He lied, the IRS, yes, he paid those on time. But the monarchy, no. And the thing was, he had a few years to make up for. Tracy may have seen this coming and chose to ignore it, being that he was far too busy. He had many things to worry about, and it wasn’t like the king needed money. “I’m gonna get right on it.” Spinning around, he nearly mowed down his daughter. “My god. Make some noise on your approach, child.” “Sorry, what happened?” she asked. “I smell—” The girl side-stepped and shrugged. “What happened to Elliot? What happened to you?” “I got stabbed.” “What?!” Tracy frowned. “Use your inside voice. What have I told you about being loud?” “Leave her be, Tracy,” Jaya cut in. “How did you get stabbed?” She looked back and gaped. “Dad, did someone try to kill you?” “Apparently, they were trying to rob me.” “Holy sh—shoot.” “Cursing is boorish for a young lady. Why do I have to remind you of this every moment of every night?” “Does it hurt?” his daughter asked, in an amused tone. A fiendish smile exposed her delight. “Yes, it does.” Elliot was not enthused with her response. “Jaya, are you gonna stitch him?” “I sure am, you wanna watch?” “Absolutely.” Tracy rolled his eyes. How was the girl he raised obsessed with gore? “I’m going to freshen up and be in my office until supper is ready. Max, don’t poke at it.” “Dad,” she huffed. “I’m not gonna poke it.” “You poke everything.” “I bet it’s squishy,” she said. “You are not touching me,” Elliot interjected, “it’s on fire.” Max laughed as Tracy took his leave. Wheeling around, he departed and banked right. On a mission, he kept straight ahead, through formal living, and dashed down the hall. He loved the portraits straddling his path. There were various photos from the past and present. The passage of time is told through frozen memories. Vintage frames protected old, blurry black-and-whites. Maxine’s baby shoots, class photos, or candid snaps in color. 1.7 million was a lot for some, but in Miami, it was a drop in the bucket, and got you four bedrooms. Maybe three thousand square feet. Tracy had four thousand and owned the largest home in the neighborhood. He lived lavishly, with marble floors and twenty-foot ceilings. At a dead end, he glared at the doors leading to his quarters, then to the left, and decided. His office beckoned. This shit was not going to be fun. On his way, he glanced in Max’s room and grunted. Slob. Clothes were scattered about, canvases on the floor, and old paint coated every surface. He moved on with a sigh and entered his workspace. She got it earnestly. Tracy dropped his bag and closed the door. Papers swamped his desk, books lay on their backs, and leaned on shelves. The file cabinet wasn’t even closed. Folders cocked and protruded, daring to escape drawers. Stress ailed him. Tracy didn’t know where to begin, and his burden grew heavier when he opened the closet door. File boxes and overflowing plastic tubs screamed obscenities. Those were his finances. Somewhere in this mess was six years’ worth of financial garbage. Shit that made his brain explode lurked within the heap. “Well, let’s get to it.”
At Jaya’s place—the guest house—Max stood behind his nurse and watched. Low sat on the bed bench while the lady worked with skilled hands. “That shit went deep, bruh,” Max said. She stared in awe as his skin pulled with the thread. “You think?” Low asked, clearly annoyed. “I put a topical anesthetic on it. You shouldn’t feel anything.” “I don’t, it’s not the first time I been skewered.” Jaya’s Cinnamon gaze flared. “Is that so?” “Nah, but it don’t never get easier.” He flinched, and Max winced. The asshole chuckled. “That ain’t funny,” she scowled. “It is to me.” Max grimaced and mumbled, “You irritating, like hella bothersome.” “Back at you, sir.” She flipped him off and got a smile in return. “I love how you two get along like angry siblings.” Max coughed and gagged. “Don’t say that, Jaya!” Shivering, she glanced at Low who couldn’t have been more disgusted. “Okay.” His nurse clipped the last stitch and said, “That should do it, kid. Let me dress it with some gauze, and you’ll be good to go.” Making herself useful, Max snatched a pack of sterilized cotton stuff. The wound was nasty but healing already. “You ain’t much older than me, Jaya.” She shrugged. “Older is older.” After handing the squares over, Ms. Burke slapped the material on a three-inch gash. Surgical tape was next. “I am donezo, Elliot.” “Can I put my shirt back on now?” “I don’t know, can you?” Low rotated his shoulder and nodded. “I think so.” “By all means.” Jaya ripped off her gloves and sighed. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna need to take those out.” “It’s good.” Low grabbed his shirt and winced again. Max grimaced at the brief display of distress. “I know how to do that. I done it a lot.” “I can only imagine, you’re a big guy. You’ve undoubtedly seen your fair share of victories.” He smiled in a hideous, flirtatious manner. But Jaya rolled her eyes and gathered trash. “Thank you, ma’am.” “Don’t ma’am me, Elliot!” Bouncing up, she smirked. “I’ll punch that shoulder in a heartbeat.” He laughed then hissed. “I think the numbing agent is wearing off already.” “That’s what yo ass get, bruh,” Max said, sneering. “Tryin’ to be a hero.” “Shut the fuck up before I throw you through a window.” “I heard that!” Jaya yelled from around the corner. Vindication. “Now.” Rolling her neck, Max twirled and followed the woman’s voice. She skipped into the galley-style food room and used innocence to get what she wanted. “Hay Jaya, can you make some scones? Blueb—” “I know what kinda scones you want, honey. And yeah, it was on my to-do list.” “Yessss.” “Can’t believe somebody tried to steal Dad’s money.” She slid across the tile in her Ariel socks, plucked a pear from the fruit bowl, and hopped up on one of two countertops. Max bit into its flesh while Jaya twisted her ear. “Get your ass off,” she slid down and laughed nervously cause it hurt, “my clean counter. Have you even taken a shower yet?” “Hell nah, she cutting onions. Ol’ fonky ass.” Max hissed too, but like a vampire, and snarled, “Mind your business. And yes, I did take a shower.” “Doubtful.” “Byyyyyyeeee Elliiiiiooot!” He shot a narrowed gaze her way and smacked his lips. “Bruh, you buggin. See if I ever give your yappin ass another treat.” “Fuck off, four eyes.” The male was six-foot-three, and his waves nearly brushed the ceiling. He was a grown ass man but sensitive as hell. Low stomped his foot as Max chomped on her fruit. “Why you always gotta go there?” he pouted. “You know how I feel about my weak eyesight. Man, Jaya, she ain’t right, that’s not okay. It’s a disability! You can’t say that.” “You a crybaby, blood,” Max murmured. He lunged, but hiding behind Jaya’s six-foot, thick frame saved her. “Boy, you better back up. Don’t touch my baby. Go on now, go home. You look exhausted.” “I am.” “I know.” “For real,” Max agreed. She rolled the green to find a crisp, white, meaty part. “You look tired. Get some rest.” “Yeah, yeah.” Low stalked out and slammed the door on his departure. “Why do you hate him so much?” “I do not hate him.” “You do, you’re like a pissy cat ready to scratch his eyes out.” “He’s annoying, Jaya.” Scraping the core, she sucked on juice then ditched it’s corpse in the trash can. “He’s an elderly crotchety male whose favorite pastime is making me mad.” “That’s cause you have a bad temper, Max.” “I don’t, though.” “You’re a terrible liar, too.” She giggled, scurried from the kitchen, and hopped on Jaya’s bed. “No feet on my bed!” “I didn’t put my—” “You did, I watched you do it.” “You’re in the kitchen, how do you know?” Falling into a cross-legged position, Max smiled and snagged the remote. “What have you been—gross. You and these god damn documentaries. It’s a sickness.” “You want popcorn?” “Yes.” Docs were out, American Gangster was in. When the movie started, Max got nice and comfy. Per the norm, Jaya brought popcorn and hooch. Seagram’s Escapes were actually the best. Black Berry Fizz got them right every time. Just when Frank showed his face, Jaya chose to talk. “I think you should get laid.” Max dribbled and stabbed her with a side eye, “I am not talking about this with you. I can’t, it’s… ick. You changed my diapers.” Jaya threw an arm around her and smiled. “Awww sweetheart, sex is natural. It’s healthy.” “Oh, my god.” Max stared at the TV and nodded. “It helps with stress and anger. If you can’t find a man, then hay, buy one.” “What?! What do you mean?” “From Adam and Eve, they have a great selection of toys.” “Noooooo, Jaya, I am begging you, please. I love you and your concern. But I don’t need to get laid.” Her only motherly figure observed in silence. Jaya’s lips pursed as she shrugged. “I suppose, but I’ll find you something cute anyway. I have a few recommendations.” Max sipped her beer and snickered. Toys were nice, and she had a few, but little did this lady know they were useless, and no substitute for real peen. Skin to skin. Shit, Max was lucky as hell to get dick on the regular, even if its owner was forbidden.
Hello, y’all, I hope everyone is doing well, and your Tuesday is halfway through. I want to say thank you for the love this story is getting. It’s round two of trying to publish it. No one, and I mean, not a soul, read it on Vella. But, you’re here now, and I thank you! Onto chapter notes. First of all, I already know y’all are going to hate Tracy, but when I wrote this, I felt as though his pov was important. Please, don’t skip his chapters; they will be needed later on. This is an mmf paranormal romance first, yes. But it’s also a family drama filled with secrets, trauma, and healing generational wounds. The person Max is has a lot to do with her father, and in the coming weeks, you’ll see why. If Max seems a tad childish, playful, and even annoying, that’s on purpose. This is only the beginning, and my favorite girl is in for some GROWING PAINS! So, sit tight, and enjoy the ride. Oh, and one more thing, I wrote and finished this series about five or six years ago. I’ve written so many books since, and the universe in which this one exists is VAST. I’ll add notes as needed. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. And as always, thank you again. Have a wonderful week, y’all.
J. T. Frost 